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PLATO

THE TIMTUS

AND

THE CRITIAS

The Thomas Taylor Translation
Foreword by R. Catesby Taliaferro

BOLLINGEN SERIES III

PANTHEON BOOKS

Copyright 1944 by the Bollingen Series,
Old Dominion Foundation, Washington, D.C.
Published for Bollingen Foundation Inc.

by Pantheon Boohs Inc.

SCI S: °f- ECOLOGY

AT CLAREMONT

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'ornia

THIS VOLUME IS THE THIRD IN A
SERIES OF BOOKS SPONSORED BY
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First Printing: January 1944
Second Printing: August 1952

Manufactured in U.S.A.

CONTENTS

FOREWORD by R. Catesby Taliaferro 9

Introduction to the Timaeus 37

THE TUVLEUS 93

Introduction to the Critias 227

THE CRITIAS 229

FOREWORD

This translation of the Timaeus and Critias together with the
introduction was made by Thomas Taylor (1758-1835) and pub¬
lished along with his translations of the other dialogues in 1804.
Nine of them were translated by Floyer Sydenham with Taylor s
correction, and the whole work was introduced by a general essay
on the Platonic system. Other translations by Taylor are the
Metaphysics of Aristotle, die Orphic hymns, and some Neopla¬
tonic writings.

The Plato of Taylor is seen through the eyes of Plotinus,
Proclus, and Iamblichus, that is through the eyes of men who
were attempting a synthesis of Plato and his pupil and opponent
Aristotle along with religious emanation theories from the East.
The reader will soon be aware of this in reading Taylor’s intro¬
duction to the Timaeus here published and in reading his notes
to the dialogue. He will notice that Taylor is most interested in
the passages of the Timaeus dealing with the gods, to manage end¬
less allegories with them. A good deal of this is inspired by the
commentary of Proclus and is quoted from this source. But the
general reader will not notice that all the comment of Proclus on
the parts of the dialogue alluding to the quadrivial arts, arithme¬
tic, geometry, music, and astronomy, translated in modem terms
as pure mathematics and mathematical physics in its various
branches, is unfortunately ignored. Although Taylor elsewhere
declares that the quadrivium is basic to the understanding of
Plato, he here neglects it; and here as elsewhere he expands the
poetic and theological aspects in the narrow sense of those terms.
At times he comes to grips with the purely logical and dialectical
aspects in a serious way. Not much scope is given for that in the
Timaeus; but if the reader is studious, he may find a good ex¬
ample of Taylor’s insights into the Platonic dialectic in his notes

to the first part of the Parmenides and in particular to the third
hypothesis on the nature of participation.

Taylor’s approach is perfectly defensible if you are not subject
to the bugaboo of exact historical research and willing to con¬
sider the development of a doctrine for itself. Moreover, the
translation is generally precise and concerned with doctrinal
soundness rather than with literary ornament, even if, as might
be expected, it follows almost exclusively the tradition of Proclus.
In his general introduction to the dialogues Taylor explicitly
says that he is concerned with doctrinal consistency rather than
with grammatical lore, and prophetically denounces the dangers
of philology. Yet there are certain things to which one could de¬
mur. For instance, the word “energy” is usually not in the Greek
text. The phrase assimilative reason” is much too heavy and
should be replaced by “likely story.” “Impartible” is probably
not as clear for most people as “indivisible.” And there are other
places where one could argue for a better rendering of Plato’s
meaning.

But if, on the level of doctrine, Taylor’s approach is perfectly
defensible and even desirable, it is not that of the author of this
preface in most particulars, and in some cases it even contradicts
the spirit and the text of Plato himself. For example, such is
Taylor’s Neoplatonic zeal that he ascribes to Plato the doctrine
that the stars and planets are of a material substance entirely
different from that of the earth and having peculiar laws of its
own, and that the earth is absolutely at rest in the center of the
universe. The images of the stars and planets, he argues, which
we get in telescopes and which seem to show that the material
substance is the same, are conditioned by the fact they are images
in the atmosphere of the earth and therefore prove nothing. This
argument is worthy to be received and not a little daring when
we consider that it is advanced at a time when Lagrange and
Laplace are realizing some of the greatest triumphs of the oppo¬
site theory in their mathematical developments of the ideas of
Kepler and Newton. But it is not Platonic; it belongs to Aristotle

and the Neoplatonists. Nor would Plato’s fundamental theses
have allowed him to argue against Kepler and Lagrange in any
such way. I think this will be evident in the analysis of the
Timaeus we here add to Taylor’s.

The Timaeus is a most difficult dialogue because it is poetical
and yet mathematical, historical and yet doctrinal, ironical and
yet literal. It has been commented on profusely and many times.
The recent line by line commentary of Mr. A. E. Taylor is ex¬
cellent, and more recently still there is the commentary of Mr.
Corn ford.

But the reader who really wishes to understand it, rather than
read the professional commentaries, would do better to master
the Elements of Euclid, Ptolemy’s Almagest, Copernicus’ On
the Revolutions of the Celestial Spheres, Kepler’s An Epitome
of Copernican Astronomy, and the books on music and astronomy
in Theo of Smyrna’s Exposition of Things Mathematical Useful
for the Reading of Plato. While the astronomical works here
cited except for short references in Theo of Smyrna, do not ex¬
pound the systems nearest to that of the Timaeus and which are
certainly implicitly referred to there, namely that of Eudoxus
and that of Heraclides of Pontus, yet they will clarify both the
spirit and the letter of the astronomical references. The works
of Eudoxus and of Heraclides, members of the Platonic Academy,
do not survive, and an account in any detail of Eudoxus’ astron¬
omy exists in Simplicius, an Alexandrian commentator of Aris¬
totle. For those who are interested, a learned reconstruction of
both systems is given in T. L. Heath’s Aristarchus of Samos.

In presenting here our own analysis of the Timaeus, we shall
first place it in the general scheme of the Platonic dialectic, and
second explain the principal parts and theories of the dialogue
itself.

The Platonic dialectic is usually divided two ways, the upward
and the downward. The first steps of the upward dialectic are

most evident in the Phaedo where Socrates speaks of his youthful
search for an understanding of the appearances of nature and his
disappointment with all the then current accounts which mis¬
took the description of sequences of events for reasons. He then,
read Anaxagoras for his promise to explain reason’s (youg) uni¬
versal rule, only to find the same groove of events, and reason,
standing idly by. Finally Socrates decided, he says, to follow dis¬
course itself (Xoyo i \..

It is just at this point the great Platonic step is made: symbol¬
ism is possible, one thing can and does stand for another. What
then does our speech stand for? Suppose then I say that this thing
A I sense is smaller than this other B. Is it then true that what
is meant by “smaller than” is here given in this sensible situation?
Perhaps, I sense a difference which is this much. But this is not
sufficient, for with many another this much I should say A is
smaller than B. The ground or reason of “smaller than” is then
not here sensed as such in the sensible situation, neither in the
whole nor in the part. I can further complicate matters by saying
B is greater than A and by the same this much. Or again bringing
in a C, A is greater than C but less than B. And so our discourse
as an image of what we sense is incommensurate with it; it is also
the image of something else. The mind baffled by the discrepancy
turns to find the other model. “Smaller than” characterized a
certain situation which was not just smaller than and nothing
else. And yet it is just this last smaller than being completely
what it is which furnishes the ground or meaning of the state¬
ment. Discourse therefore imitates two beings: Jihose not fully
what they are said to be and those fully what they are said to be.
BuTthe saying symbolizes being, and, unless we are arbitrary, be¬
longs as a two-way mirror in things, a being among beings.
Through its mediation we must conclude that sensible things
are to other things not sensible as things not being what they are
to things being what they are. And in this way discourse exor¬
cises the power and flux of things we see and touch allowing the
mind to turn and discover things we can only think, small com-

pletely small and large completely large. And so finds itself in
the presence of the forms or ideas.

Having made this first step in the upward dialectic, the mind
is seized with a dialectical madness and finds each form to be not
only what it is but also something else. Small’s being only small
means it is other than large, but it is the same as large in the sense
that large is other than small. It searches everywhere for some¬
thing completely what it is and only what it is.

The dialectic of the one and many furnishes this. Of everything
it must be said it is one. This is the condition not only of any
linguistic analysis but also of any sensible analysis and even of
sensing at all. But nothing can be said of the one completely one,
which is the ground of this predication, without destroying its
meaning. It alone is completely sufficient, not subject to predica¬
tion or relation. In this sense it is the good, the end without
means, the end never a means. Strictly it is ineffable yet the
source of all speech.

But the one and many furnishes another anomaly. One and
one are two. The science of arithmetic demands and presents an
indefinite many of ones, distinct only in that there are many but
not otherwise different. Now each form is unique, but every
number is indefinitely multiplicable. Unlike the events of na¬
ture each number is what it is; unlike the forms, there are a many
of each different one of them.

Arithmetic, the science of the indefinitely multiplicable ones,
further extends itself beyond itself, in a way we shall see later, to
take in geometry and the incommensurables. The objects of
mathematics lie then like a two-way mirror between the becoming
of events and the being of the forms, reflecting both and repre¬
senting in their own structure the dichotomy and unity of forms
and events.

The upward dialectic now takes two directions; the one is
represented in the Sophist, the other in the final and unpublished
doctrines of Plato hinted at in the Philebus and Statesman, and
attacked in the last two books of the Metaphysics of Aristotle. In

the first direction, the dialectic establishes the five great forms
same, other, motion, rest, and being. It is through the considera¬
tion of the mind s own dialectic that motion is introduced among
the forms, and the passage, the generation, the becoming of
sensible things has its intelligible counterpart, the changeness of
change. If this is surprising, it is because we have misjudged the
distinction between the forms and events, between being and be¬
coming. The upward dialectic is a flight from the incompleteness
of events rather than from their characteristic of passage.

Smaller than” said more than the particular difference of the
magnitudes of A and B; we are always aware of more than we
sense, always saying more than we are aware of. Passage is the
result of the incompleteness of events, a certain relation of a cer-
1 tain part to a certain whole; on this level, it is the attempt of a
part to be a whole.

In the second direction, the dialectic finds the form-numbers.
If the way from ones to oneness leads to a view of such vast con¬
sequences for the understanding of being, something analogous
must hold for twos and twoness, threes and threeness and so on.
By a scrutiny of these relations the mind can hope to achieve an
insight into the forms not unlike that mathematics affords into
the sensible world.

This is the course of the upward dialectic as given in the
Phaedo, Theaetetus, Parmenides, and Sophist. But already in die
Parmenides the question of the precise relation of events to forms
is raised. It is one thing to become aware of the forms and an¬
other to examine critically the possibility of the fundamental
duplicity in things we discovered by following discourse, and to
probe the peculiar many-one relation of participation the dialec¬
tic has everywhere faced us with. For participation is only a spe¬
cial case of the problem of communion, of the symbolizing of
one thing with another, of universal mimicry.

Again the Parmenides implicitly asks the question why, if
oneness, there should be many; if the perfect end needing no

means, why means. The question in another form is once the
mind has been carried up to one, how does it get down. The sec¬
ond part of the dialogue shows how the question might be an¬
swered by the if-then discourse appropriate to mathematics. Al¬
though the method naturally fails in one sense, yet such is the
mirroring power of the mathematicals, the deductive lattice of
the nine hypotheses on one and others reflects as in an awkward
glass or distorting riddle the possibility of others than oneness.

Otherness and motion are forms. This is the ground of intelli¬
gibility of all the upward dialectic leaves behind. The sensible
event in passage is other than any other event in passage; an event
is the mark of itself only. It is the nexus of many forms, but is
not in turn the form of anything. Events stand in a many-one re¬
lation to forms by participation; to events by reflection.

It is because otherness and motion are forms, belong to in¬
telligible discourse and not just to the appearance we try first to
escape from, that the downward dialectic seems possible. The
first duty of the philosopher as shown in the Phaedo is to leave
the sensible appearances, to turn to the unchangeable and eternal
objects of discourse, to find death. This is the moment of purifi¬
cation. But the Republic announces just as insistently the neces¬
sity of return. The appearances must be understood as appear¬
ances. If this were not so. the death would be despair, a suicide.
The vulgar myths of soul migration are the vague images of this
true cycle of knowing: from death to life and from life to death.

The Statesman, the Philebus and the Timaeus are the dialogues
of this return, above all the Timaeus.

Properly enough the Timasus seems to have been written
nearly the last of Plato’s dialogues representing as it does the at¬
tempt to make intelligible the appearances by means of mathe¬
matics principally and medicine secondarily. In the Republic,
the state is used as a large-scale model of the human soul; and,

since it is the state that is used, the emphasis is on the functions
and virtues of the soul in its parts and in its whole. In the
Timaeus, the world is used as the large model of the human soul,
and the emphasis is on the natural structure of the soul. Neither
in the one nor the other, is it to be taken too seriously that the
model has a soul as a man does, although the language of the
Timaeus would sometimes seem to force the point.

In the Republic, the soul is seen to consist of three parts, the
Jntell^ctugl, the spirited, and t he appeti tive, corresponding to
the three classes of the state, the judges, the warriors, and the
artisans; and to the virtues, wisdom, courage, and temperance,
justice being the ordering of them all. It is the spirited which
gives the typical Platonic insight and is best described by the
power of anger binding the appetites to the rule of the intellect¬
ual when it is rightly ordered or otherwise binding the intel¬
lectual to the service of the appetites. In the Timaeus, we have
perhaps again the same trio: Timaeus, the Pythagorean scientist,
Hermocrates, the Sicilian general, and Critias to describe the
historical world whose timeless structure is given by Timaeus,
Socrates standing by.

Timaeus, as he says, will tell only a likely story (d/cebg X6yog)
—Taylor’s assimilative reason—of the apparent world, but in view
of the good. In other words, he is to use rational discourse to save
the appearances in view of a complete understanding. Rational
discourse (<5 idvoia), it is explained in the Republic, is the
eminently mathematical method of laying down arbitrary hy¬
potheses or axioms and deducing conclusions from them. It is
inferior to the noetic understanding (vo7]oig) by means of
the forms, a method that establishes its hypotheses and is there¬
fore beyond hypothesis. Rational discourse by hypothesis is to
complete understanding as the mathematicals to the forms, as
the spirited part of the soul to the intellectual, as the warrior to
the judge. It is by mathematics the intellect descends to conquer
the apparently unintelligible flux of events, constructing in

mathematics and hypothetical discourse an image of the appear¬
ances to conquer and order them with.

But many such images are possible, there are many possible
theories for a set of appearances or experimental data. For ex¬
ample, the law of reflection and Snell’s law of the refraction of
light can be explained either by Huyghen’s wave-front theory or
by Newton’s corpuscular-attraction theory. Language and mathe¬
matics are inexhaustible in their store of myths. But the most
fascinating and satisfying are the mathematical; out of a pure
many of undifferentiated ones emerge the most varied and the
most flexible images, and never has a poet with such simple lan¬
guage and such severe rules gotten so much.

But how do you decide from among so many stories? The
choice, says Timseus, must be in view of the good or one. Kepler,
more than any other scientist, echoes the same preoccupations in
astronomical treatises obviously inspired by the Timasus. Again
and again he affirms it is not enough for an astronomical theory to
save the appearances and predict them; it must assign the arche¬
typal reasons. Those Kepler himself assigns are usually ad hoc.
But it was a common failing of Renaissance Platonism that it used
more imagination than reason in its handling of the forms and
used the downward dialectic in the rashest way to forge the in¬
credible instrument of modern physics. —Again Leibniz, in the
same vein, distinguishes between necessary and sufficient condi¬
tions. The first are the laws which can be deduced from the law
of contradiction, the second from the good. The first give the
possible, the second the grounds of those realized in the flux of
events.

Of course, even Timseus’ account is not necessarily that of
Plato. Timaeus is of an earlier generation of scientists; but while
his theories are in many cases surpassed in subtlety by those cur¬
rent in the Platonic Academy, they usually suggest them and re¬
fer to them within the limits of the dialogue. It is as if White-
head should now write a dialogue using Leibniz to expound his

views of the world: he would have to present theories different
from his own but suggestive of his own in a way to satisfy them
both. Such a procedure demands more than the ordinary amount
of irony and we should never be afraid of using our sense of
humor as much as our learning in reading a dialogue of this sort.

On the other hand, this demand for more than power of pre¬
diction explicitly denies any such view as that of Mach’s who
claims that die laws of mechanics are nothing but formulas repre¬
senting a sum of past experiences (sum understood as no more
than the parts) and valid only as ways of economizing thought.
Unfortunately for Mach, the simpler the formula and the greater
its generality the more thinking it requires to use it. The prin¬
ciple of Hamilton which holds the solution of every holonomic
mechanical system of a conservative classical kind in the short ex¬
pression

C U

S I L dt = o
J to

achieves such a simplicity only at the expense of so much thought
that it is hardly worth while learning it for the solution of most
problems. Its simplicity is hardly an economy of the usual sort
but more akin to the Platonic unity, enfolding within itself a
most amazing multiplicity and requiring techniques and theories
of all kinds for its mastery. I doubt if even our most successful
schools could train anyone to use it without an intellectual chal¬
lenge. And the generalized law of inertia of Herz which covers
even non-holonomic non-conservative systems so long as they are
free from passive resistance is so simple Helmholtz wondered if
any problems could be solved with it, although Mach himself
recognized it as the most enlightened form of classical mechanics.
The Herzian system goes so far as to suppose concealed motions of
which we have no experience at all. —Principles such as these do
not summarize our experiences as a whole which is only the sum
of its parts. They are wholes more than the sum of their parts;
often suggested by experience they direct further experience

because the mathematical image is always more than the data it
reflects.

Such then is the general purpose of the Timaeus. The account
itself is divided into two parts. The first emphasizes the ends of
the world system; the second its means.

The first taking the four visible and tangible elements earth,
air, fire, and water as given, composes them in view of the forms
to present the visible world. But the given has already been exor¬
cised by the properties of square and cube numbers. Between
a 2 and b 2 where a and b represent integers there is only one num¬
ber ab such that 0 , . uo

a 2 :ab = ab:b-

and between a 3 and b 2 , only two numbers a 2 b and ab 2 such that
a 3 :a 2 b = a 2 b:ab 2 = ab 2 :b 3

The proofs of these theorems were known to Plato and can be
found in Euclid, VIII, 11 and 12. The four elements represent
the progression appropriate to three dimensional numbers and
the three dimensions of space.

~~ The second part aims to start with nothing, that nothing ulti¬
mately standing over against the one, but appearing on every
level of the dialectic as the necessary (id avayKaTov). The neces¬
sary is always difficult to define because it is always present as
exorcised by the good; it is always seen as the means to an end,
and this hides its terrible role: the inexorable is the fact that there
are means and not just the end. It appears as the course of events,
as the tragic catastrophe to be recognized, the excluded true-false
sequence of logic, the love of knowledge, and as otherness and
motion among the forms. This principle is not the prime matter
of Aristotle nor the many of the Neoplatonists. It corresponds to
these, but Plato would never have accepted the world to be radi¬
cally unintelligible in any way; it would have to be finally in¬
telligible in itself no matter the torture and incompleteness of
system this might entail.

Let us pass to the particulars of the dialogue. The first act of

the Artisan in the construction of the soul is to compose a third
sort of being out of the indivisible always what it is and the
divisible generated in bodies. Same and other are the formal
archetypes of these last two, and the Artisan then composes this
third sort with same and other. This is the stuff of the soul.

To understand the symbolism of this account, we must re¬
member the analogy reported by the tradition that the soul is
like a self-moving number. It is like a number, because just as
there are many of each number but undifferentiated except that
there are many, so there are many souls undifferentiated in so
far as they are rational. This metaphor is carried in the Phaedo
and explains perhaps the curious argument that living and dead
are to soul as odd and even to number. The soul is self-moving
because it alone brings itself to true knowledge. This is the
doctrine of the Meno where the slave boy is led by the questions
of Socrates to find the Pythagorean theorem. It reaches its climax
in the Sophist where this passage in time out of time, which is
learning, this ever abiding motion, finds its archetype in an in¬
telligible form. The Phaedrus and the Laws develop the doctrine
in a more common sense but less true and less profound way, the
one that Aristotle took over. The soul is the initiator of local
motions, and this is the way we find it considered in the Timaeus.
But it is evident that the planets only appear to move of them¬
selves and it is perfectly possible they are moved by something
else. No other theory would be consonant with the Platonic
doctrine of appearances and that is why Timseus insists he is only

I telling a likely story. But this appearance of self-motion will re¬
mind us of the real self-motion, the rational soul’s passage from
ignorance to knowledge whose true cause is the intelligible forms
themselves.

1 The soul therefore like the mathematicals mediates between
sensibles and intelligibles. But its mediation goes much deeper
since it mediates not only with respect to one and many but also
with respect to motion a nd res t. The Artisan’s composing of
indivisible and divisible signifies this mediate position. The

further composing of this mixture with same and other signifies
the awareness of the soul in intellection and sensation.

And now follows the completion of the souls building, an
allegory combining the sciences of music and astronomy. Music
is the application of arithmetic or discrete magnitudes to motion;
astronomy the application of geometry or continuous magnitudes
to motion. To understand this part of the dialogue, we must
know roughly what the astronomical appearances are, that is
what we would see if we observed the heavens every night with the
appropriate instruments. These instruments would not include
a telescope, but only such as measure angles.

The heavens would appear to us as the inside of a sphere and
we would seem to be in the middle. Then we would notice that
the stars all moved as if the sphere turned on an invariable axis
from east to west one revolution in nearly a day. Thus most of
the stars would seem to keep their relative positions to one an¬
other invariable; these are the so-called fixed stars which do
change their relative positions slightly over periods of hundreds
of years. There are evidences of some speculation among the
Greeks as to the possibility of this relative shift, but in general
they were taken as fixed. But the sun and moon and five other
stars, all called the wanderers or planets, behave differently.
While they appear to move around with the other stars one
revolution in nearly a day, they also appear to move from west
to east back along a great circle inclined to the equator of the
celestial sphere at an angle of about 23 0 very slowly and at differ¬
ent speeds. This great circle is called the ecliptic. All these planets
therefore participate in two movements which are superimposed,
as we say today, as two velocity vectors. The sun completes its
course about the ecliptic from west to east in the solar year; the
moon in the sidereal month; Mars in about 2 solar years; Jupiter
in about 11; and Saturn in about 29.

Now the sun appears to move nearly uniformly along the
ecliptic; that is, its irregularity is such that it could be explained
by supposing the sun to move uniformly about a circle eccentric

to the earth. But the moon and the five stars Venus, Mercury,
Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn, not only deviate from the ecliptic
weaving back and forth a few degrees on either side, but also they
appear to move along it in a very irregular way. Venus and Mer¬
cury seem to follow the sun appearing first on one side of it and
then on the other, Venus never more than about 48° from the
sun, Mercury never more than about 27 0 . Mars, Jupiter, and
Saturn move, we have seen, at different angular speeds along the
ecliptic, but, as the sun approaches a position on the ecliptic
nearly opposite any one of them, the star slows up and stops. This
is called a station; it then for a short space moves in the opposite
direction along the ecliptic from east to west. This is called a
regression. Then it stops again and moves on in the general direc¬
tion from west to east, going faster and faster until the sun over¬
takes it. It then slows up again and repeats the same cycle more
or less.

These are the rough appearances. The X which the Artisan
makes and bends until each of its lines forms a circle is evidently
the figure of the equator and ecliptic. The motion of the same
is the daily motion of the fixed stars, and the motion of the other
motions of the planets about the ecliptic.

There occurs a passage disputed ever since Plato wrote it.
Timaeus says the Artisan established the earth in a revolving to
and fro about the axis of the world. The word translated as “re¬
volving to and fro” was so understood by Aristotle in his treatise
On the Heavens and seemingly so by Plato’s immediate succes¬
sors in the Academy. Plato himself, in one of his fanciful etymolo¬
gies in the Cratylus, definitely gives this meaning to the word
suggesting that the Greek word for sun comes from this root be¬
cause the sun seems to revolve about the earth. Thomas Taylor,
following the tradition of Proclus, translates it to mean squeezed
about the axis of the world; he uses the word “conglobed.” But
Proclus and all the Neoplatonists wanted to fit Plato into their
own theory, the theory of Aristotle, that the earth is at rest at
the center of the world; that the laws of dynamics below the lunar

sphere are radically different from those above it. The law of
inertia of celestial dynamics for Aristotle and the Neoplatonists
is that every celestial body’s motions must be explained by a com¬
bination of uniform circular motions, that the celestial bodies
do not attract or impinge upon one another as earthly bodies do.

No such set doctrine as this appears anywhere in Plato, al¬
though at times he speaks of the heavenly bodies as suggesting
laws and motions of a superior kind. In the dialogue the Laws
he says they must be supposed to move in a simple closed curve in
spite of their apparent regression along the ecliptic. But we are
always reminded the apparent stars are like all appearances and
subject to the same laws. The radical relativity of place is ex¬
plicitly spoken of in the Republic and there is no reason to believe
that the relativity of velocities and motions was not well under¬
stood by Plato. There is a story from Sosigenes that every good
student of Plato’s was given a table of the planetary appearances
and asked to work out a theory to save them. And we know of
two famous and completely different theories worked out there:
the Eudoxian theory of the homocentric spheres and the theory
of Heraclides of Pontus.

Eudoxus’ theory involves the placing of the poles of one sphere
on the surface of another and giving them appropriate speeds
about their poles with their axes properly inclined to each other.
By combinations of three or more spheres the apparent motions
of the planets could be taken care of. This theory is the most com¬
plicated mathematically that has ever been devised and Eudoxus
never gave more than an indication of the method, that is he
divised combinations of four spheres which roughly approxi¬
mated the stations and regressions of Jupiter and Saturn but did
not save the appearances very completely. Eudoxus was probably
more concerned with the theory of motions involved and the
mathematical curves suggested, according to Socrates’ program
in the Republic.

The theory of Heraclides of Pontus is not fully known. We
know he held the earth revolved on its axis to give the motion of

the fixed stars, and Mercury and Venus revolved about the sun
as a center to explain their appearance to and fro about it. There
is reason to conjecture he knew the eccentric theorem on the
motions of Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn, given by Ptolemy at the
beginning of Book XII of the Almagest which Ptolemy asserts
was known by Apollonius of Perga and other mathematicians.
This theorem only makes sense as the way to pass from the geo¬
centric theory of Ptolemy either to the system of Tycho Brahe
where all the planets move about the sun moving in turn about
the earth or to the completely heliocentric theory of Aristarchus
of Samos, the same in all essentials as that of Copernicus, where
the earth also moves about the sun with the orbits of Mercury
and Venus inside its own and with the orbits of Mars, Jupiter, and
Saturn outside. Only two simple geometric theorems, much
simpler than the original, are needed to do this, but this is not
the place to report such details. It is therefore most likely that
Heraclides of Pontus had either the Tychonic or Copernican
system or both. For the one follows immediately from the other.

Now we can interpret the passages in the Timaeus. The earth
revolves to and fro about the axis of the universe. If we suppose
the Copernican system, the axis of the universe is through the
sun. Or we can suppose that the earth swings about the axis of
the universe supposed in the center of the sun’s motion like a
Foucault pendulum constantly changing the plane of its swing.
Either theory will explain the regressions of the planets Mars,
Jupiter, and Saturn along the ecliptic, that kind of dance Plato so
often describes and is so worried about. The first theory seems
to contradict the two passages giving the description of the
planets’ circles about the earth. But if we examine the texts care¬
fully, we shall find that only the circles of the moon and sun are
so described. In any theory, this would be exact for the moon,
and in placing these circles of the moon and sun as first and sec¬
ond, Timaeus is careful to add each time very emphatically “first
as far as the earth is concerned.” For Venus and Mercury he is
careful to say “in the circle having the same speed as the sun as

far as the earth is concerned but moving about the sun.” This is
exactly correct even if one is speaking in terms of the Copemican
theory. And Timaeus then naturally refuses to explain the move¬
ments of the outer planets as being too complicated, for this
would depend on the theorem of Ptolemy mentioned above. So
far, therefore, the Copernican theory is perfectly compatible
with the texts.

Now if one holds to the geocentric theory it is impossible to
say, with the data possessed by the Greeks, what are the relative
distances of the planets from the earth. But if one adopts the
Copemican heliocentric theory, it is very simple from the ob¬
servation of the regressions of the planets to calculate their rela¬
tive distances from the sun, although it is impossible to calculate
the moon's distance from the earth in this same way. A rough
estimate made from the observations the Greeks possessed by the
simplest geometry of right triangles gives for the relative distances
from the mean sun of Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, and
Saturn the ratios 360 : 710 : 1000 : 1575 : 5190 : 9775 which com¬
pare very favorably with those given by Kepler and Newton. But
these ratios are very nearly as 1 : 2 : 3 : 4 : 14 : 27. Except for the
fifth term 14 which should be 9, this is exactly the series of inter¬
vals Timaeus gives the circles of the planets. The moon being
arbitrary can be assigned 8. The Copernican theory, therefore,
is the most consistent with the story given by Timaeus, and there
should be little doubt it is the one he is thinking of. In any case,
the swinging of the earth about the axis of the world is certainly
used to explain the regressions of the so-called outer planets Mars,
Jupiter, and Saturn. Mr. Cornford’s theory that it is to explain
the lateral deviations from the ecliptic of all the planets would
require such complicated motions one would hesitate to set about
calculating them.

This leads us to the musical theory of the intervals. We have
just used the fact the Artisan cuts the stuff of the soul into the
lengths 1, 2, 3, 4, 8, 9, 27, or really into two sequences 1, 2, 4, 8
and 1, 3, 9, 27, because 8 and 27 are the first two cubic numbers

and therefore appropriate to the three-dimensional manifold of
the world’s space. He then uses the arithmetic and harmonic
means to fill in the gaps. The geometric mean is not used since
it would not be possible to find it within the system of rational
numbers. Let us take the ratio 1:2. The arithmetic mean would
be 3/2 so that /n ,

and 4/3 would be the harmonic mean so that

4/3-1:2-4/3=112.

In general, the arithmetic and harmonic means between two
integers m and n are given by the formulas

p — m = n — p
p — m:n — p — m:n.

We now have the progression 2, 3/2, 1. But the ratio of 3/2 to
4/3 is 9 : 8. We then try to get a progression with as many ratios
of 9 : 8 for two consecutive numbers as possible. We then con¬
sider the progression 2, 243/128, 27/16, 3/2, 4/3> 81/64, 9/8, 1,
gotten by putting in 9/8 or its multiples in the intervals of the
progression. This gives us the ratio 9 : 8 between every consecu¬
tive two except the third and fourth, and the seventh and eighth;
here the ratio is 256 : 243 closely approximating 16 : 15. If we
repeat this process for all the numbers of the original progression
we shall get the same ratios as between 1 and 2 repeated between
2 and 4, 4 and 8, and 16 and 32. We need only cut off after 27,
and we have the construction given in the dialogue.

We have so far used fractions as numbers. If we wish to keep to
the severe procedures of strict arithmetic such as Plato speaks of
in the Republic and such as they are presented in Books VII,
VIII, and IX of Euclid’s Elements, then instead of the progression
1, 9/8, 81/64, 4/3> 3/ 2 > 27/16, 243/128, 2, we use 384, 432, 486,
5 12 > 576, 648, 729, 768. It is only the ratios that are important.

This construction represents, of course, the great diatonic scale,
probably discovered in Plato’s Academy and the one approxi¬
mated to on our pianos. Suppose a sonometer with strings of the
same material and diameter, at equal tension, each with a mov-

able bridge for changing its effective length. If now we suppose
the lengths of these strings to be in the ratios of the last progres¬
sion continued on up for the other intervals beyond 1:2, then
we find we have a scale of four complete octaves and part of a
fifth. The succession of sounds from 1 to 2 seems to be repeated
from 2 to 4, again from 4 to 8 and so on, but at a higher pitch.
In other words the 1 : 2 seems to represent a period of sameness
or return in the succession of musical sounds. This is the mean¬
ing of the octave. It is like the circle in astronomy. Unfortunately
the circles of the planets could not be put in the ratios of the
octaves; the demands of the heliocentric theory could be more
nearly met by the other series.

The theory of the schools of Eudoxus and Archytas, according
to Theo of Smyrna, held that the difference of pitch according
to string length was due to the greater rapidity of vibration of
the shorter string which thus set up more rapid vibrations in the
air. Smaller diameters and greater tensions would have the same
effect, they knew. But there is no indication that they had formal
mathematical laws for any variations but lengths. A musical in¬
terval is to be measured by the ratio of the string lengths, other
things being equal. Considering any three strings of different
lengths, the interval of the first to the third is the ratio of the
first to the second compounded with that of the second to the
third, or in other terms we multiply the successive ratios together
like fractions to get the third.

Hence the great problem in music is to fill in the octave interval
with harmonious intervals, that is to find those ratios between
small whole numbers which compounded together make 2:1,
and which all lie between 1 : 1 and 2:1. In other words, to find
those fractions in their lowest terms between 1 and 2 and involv¬
ing small numbers which multiplied together give 2/1. For the
most harmonious intervals are in ratios between small whole
numbers. For the Pythagoreans the ratios 3 : 2 and 4 : 3, the
perfect fifth and the perfect fourth, were the most perfect inter¬
vals within the octave, the same we found by the arithmetic and

harmonic means. The Pythagorean chromatic scale succeeds in
having thirteen pitches to an octave twelve pairs of which give
just those intervals. The successive ratios are alternately 2187 :
2048 and 251 : 243. But the ratio of the first string to the last
is not quite 2:1; there is a difference of the so-called Pythagorean
comma, a large fraction nearly equal to 1 and therefore almost
imperceptible to the ear. Furthermore each of the successive in¬
tervals approximates the standard semi-tone interval of 16 : 15.

The diatonic scale, on the other hand, is remarkable for com¬
pletely filling the octave and yet proceeding by whole tones or
9 : 8 ratios except for the two semi-tones or 16 : 15 ratios sym¬
metrically situated. The other important Greek scales, the chro¬
matic and enharmonic, do not have this simplicity of progression
and this explains Plato’s preference.

It is hardly necessary to unroll the analogies between the prob¬
lem of the scale and the problem of the downward dialectic, they
are so obvious. The octave is the one or cycle of the musical move¬
ment. Just as the downward dialectic must find the mean terms
between one and many to reduce Necessity to order so arithmetic
seeks to fill in the octave with as many well-ordered terms as pos¬
sible. For if strings are arranged in lengths approaching a con¬
tinuous change from 1 to 2 as in the case of a siren, they give the
impression of chaos, just a noise. But in the solutions of the prob¬
lem of the scale, Necessity shows itself again and again: in the
Pythagorean chromatic by the comma and the approximations
to the semi-tone; in the diatonic by the relatively smaller number
of perfect fifths and fourths and the approximations to the semi¬
tones. Such is the nature of the ratio 2:1, whatever order is in¬
troduced, a disorder is also introduced. Necessity here manifests
itself in tile incompatibility of the orders; here the radical many¬
ness of order seems to be its undoing. Curiously enough the
thresholds of the senses themselves can be used to insinuate order;
the imperfection of hearing allows a ratio between very large
numbers to produce the sensible order rightly belonging to ratios
between small numbers. The deception of the senses in view of

the good, this mockery by whole number of the appearances, is
found in modern quantum practice as well as in music, its ancient
counterpart. Thus entropy in quantum statistics is

S = K log G

where G is the number of possible states in a definite region of
phase space. G is necessarily a large whole number and this allows
S to have the appearance of a continuous function.

This linking of music with astronomy represents for Timaeus
the conquest of geometry by arithmetic, of the continuum by
whole numbers. The musical scale dominates the apparent mo¬
tion of the planets. But this domination is not perfect; 9 does not
fit Jupiter, 8 and the moon are arbitrary; the planetary circles do
not fit the octave ratios. This is again Necessity, although it ap¬
pears here more as chance because we do not fully see the nature
of Jupiter’s position as we see the nature of the ratios between
1 : 1 and 2:1.

Perhaps the great analogy here is that soul is to body as whole-
number ratio is to the incommensurable ratio. This becomes
clearer when we turn to the construction of the body of the world
from the fundamental triangles. The reader who wishes to under¬
stand the mathematical detail of this part of the dialogue should
follow the construction of the five regular solids in Book XIII
of Euclid’s Elements. It is there shown there are only five regu¬
lar solids, they can all be inscribed in a sphere, and their sides are
incommensurable with the diameter of the circumscribed sphere.
Timaeus’ construction is different from that given in Euclid be¬
cause he is concerned with their atomic structure where the atoms
are the fundamental triangles which go to make up their faces.
These triangles are of two kinds: (1) those right triangles having
their two legs equal, (2) those having their legs unequal but such
that the square on one is three times the square on the other.
The first three solids, the tetrahedron, octahedron, and icosahe¬
dron are formed of equilateral triangles each containing six of the
second kind of fundamental triangle. Therefore the tetrahedron
is made up of 24 of these triangles, the octahedron 48, and the

icosahedron 120. Since the last two are multiples of the first, and
the triangles alone are indestructible, these solids can break up
one into another. Therefore the elements fire, air, and water
they represent transmute one into another. But earth is repre¬
sented by the cube, with faces containing only fundamental tri¬
angles of the first kind; it cannot break up into anything but
smaller cubes. The fifth regular solid, the dodecahedron, has
pentagonal faces, is therefore inscrutable in terms of the funda¬
mental triangles, and is reserved for the shape of the universe.

It is important to notice the edges of the regular solids are in¬
commensurable with respect to the diameter of the circumscribed
sphere. Now the mathematical theory of the incommensurables
plays a big part in the Platonic dialogues: it is present in the
Meno; it opens the Theaetetus; it dominates the Sophist; and
closes its period in the Timaeus with a final apotheosis in the
Epinomis. Eudoxus, by his famous definitions of equality and
inequality of ratios, given in the first seven definitions of Euclid
V, had finally circumscribed the problem within the domain of
whole-number ratios.

Let us see this problem in some detail, since here we come to
grips with Necessity in the most precise way. The fact of the in¬
commensurables is most easily explained as follows. It can be
shown that the ratio of the hypotenuse of an isosceles right tri¬
angle to one of its sides is not equal to the ratio of any whole num¬
ber to any other. Translated in other terms, no length no matter
how small will measure both the hypotenuse and the side to¬
gether. This devastating discovery was made by the Pythagoreans
who found right at the heart of geometry something apparently
beyond whole numbers. The theory of Eudoxus can best be ex¬
plained by the following very free translation of Definitions 3, 4,
5, 7, Euclid V.

A ratio is a sort of relation with respect to multiplicability
between two magnitudes of the same kind.

“Magnitudes of the same kind are capable when multiplied of
exceeding one another.

“Two magnitudes a and b are in the same ratio as two others
c and d, if for every possible pair of whole numbers m and n,
when ma >nb, then me >nd; when ma = nb, then me = nd;
when ma<nb, then mc<nd.

“Whenever this is not true for one pair of numbers m and n,
then the ratios are unequal.”

If a and b are respectively the hypotenuse and side of a right
isosceles triangle, then there are no m and n such that ma = nb.
Still the definition provides a means of handling the situation.
For it can easily be proved that, if ma>nb, then a : b>n : m;
and if ma<nb, then a : b<n : m. Therefore Eudoxus definition
of the equality of ratios simply says that two ratios are the same,
when they are not expressible as a whole-number ratio, if they
divide all whole-number ratios into two classes A and B where
all the whole-number ratios belong either to class A or to class B,
all the members of A are less than those of B, and where there is
no greatest member in A and no least in B. For it is easily proved
that between any two different whole-number ratios there always
lies a third. If m : n<p : q, then m : n<m+p : n+q<p : q.
The incommensurable ratio a : b is therefore defined, according
to this theory, by two classes of whole-number ratios, absolutely
definite as classes but containing each an indefinite many of
whole-number ratios.

And so the incommensurable is exorcised by a double infinity
of rational numbers ordered uniquely into two classes. A de¬
termination is made of what seemed essentially indeterminate in
terms of the many ones of mathematics. Here we see mirrored
within mathematics itself an exemplar of the world: the law de¬
termining the cut is as oneness, the two classes the twoness of
being, the many rational numbers the mathematicals mediating
their own infinity appearing as a relentless necessity, and the
whole determined as the mixed. This is why the Epinomis speaks
of this divine number symbolized by the whole-number ratio of
plane figures.

Then there is the final attempt to reach an understanding of

3 1

Necessity itself without the mediation of anything else. Timaeus
says it is like a receptacle, but without any shape; like the mathe¬
matician’s space but without the coordinates actualized, having a
pure movement with nothing moving. In modern terms it is as
if you said Necessity is the possibility of a multi-dimensional
manifold, the possibility of many independent variables. In par¬
ticular the receptacle represents the possibility of the three-
dimensional space, and the motion inherent in the receptacle
time. For time, says Timaeus, is the moving image of eternity.
And the motions of the stars and of each planet, he goes on to say,
are manifestations of time. This means we measure time by
choosing some motion as uniform and numbering its returns.
The daily motion of the fixed stars was usually taken by the
Greeks as the uniform motion whose cycles were the whole num¬
bers of the time coordinate, and this is also demanded by the
Newtonian theory.

But the Timaeus is saying explicitly that any motion can be
taken as uniform. The absoluteness of time is this principle which
enables the mind to consider any motion as uniform, and this is
exactly the theory later stated at great length by St. Augustine in
his Confessions where time is the mediating principle of Redemp¬
tion just as here it is a mediating principle between the form mo¬
tion and the flux. By uniformity of motion is meant that we can
number the recurrences of the motion, if it is cyclical, by whole
numbers, thus considering every cycle of the motion as equal.
The Newtonian theory of absolute time is a degradation of the
Platonic principle. Instead of keeping absolute time as the medi¬
ating principle in the light of which any motion could be taken
as its measure, Newton tried to realize it as an hypothetical abso¬
lute motion to which all possible sensible motions must be re¬
ferred. This was necessary for Newton because of his particular
formulation of the laws of mechanics. Since the vector of mass-
acceleration is for him the essential entity to be measured and
since the vector of mass-acceleration changes with the frame of
reference, it is necessary to postulate an absolute frame of refer-

3 *

ence to which all observers can refer themselves if they are to
have a common science. For the Newtonian laws of mechanics
do not hold for any frame of reference. Since such a frame can¬
not be found by its very nature, that sensible frame has always
been chosen which saves most accurately the Newtonian laws
of mechanics in their application to the appearances. The fixed
stars serve this purpose the best, and this was the ad hoc state of
the science of mechanics at the end of the nineteenth century to
the delight of the positivists. For having degraded a perfectly
good principle, one arrived at no principle at all. The doctrine
of the Timaeus would demand a law of mechanics general enough
to hold for any observer or any frame of reference; obviously
such a law might well entail the relativity of time as counted, al¬
though there is never this kind of relativity in the time which
counts.

Necessity is therefore finally presented as the possibility of a
four-dimensional manifold of space and time. And if you should
refuse this final mechanical mediation of mathematics and seek
a direct intuition, you would have to try and see it as in a dream,
a surrealist trance, where, in order to understand this least in¬
telligible of all things for us but somehow guaranteed to be in¬
telligible in itself by the forms motion and otherness, you would
seek to deny reason and plunge into the flux to be only the flux.
But this conscious effort at a stream of consciousness, this monoto¬
nous flight from the same, is a kind of folly, a madness ending only
in frustration. And so Timaeus simply mentions this dreamlike
quality of the receptacle and passes quickly to the notion of a
four-dimensional manifold of space and time as tire real place for
the human understanding of this more than human bondage.

This much has been written to give the reader an understand¬
ing of the astronomical, musical, and mathematical theories to be
read between the lines of the Timaeus. As for the medical theories
which are used to image the relationships between Body and
soul, we leave them aside for another time.

* * *

It is a fashion among some people to say that Plato was neither
a philosopher nor a scientist but a poet. Either they have not
read or understood the more difficult dialogues or they do not
understand the methods of philosophy or natural science. It
should be evident from a thorough reading of the Timaeus that
its author was a master of the most sophisticated mathematical
and physical theories known to the Greeks and never surpassed
by many theories since. Furthermore the Timasus in its broad
outlines and in its parts enunciates the true scientific method:
sensible experience can do no more than suggest or partially con¬
firm; the intellect can only unravel the tangle of events, looking
at the harmonious formulas of mathematics in the light of great
principles with a view to completeness. Philosophy is concerned
with finding ones in the many and, returning, to understand the
many it took its flight from. If this is poetry, then all truly great
scientists and philosophers are poets—poets, not in the slovenly
sense of so many of our day and of Plato’s day (and this is why
he excluded them from the Republic), people intent on their own
feelings and emotions, but poets in the sense they use imagination,
to find orders where disorder appears, not to make images for
images’ sake but to bring intellect to terms with the flux. No
formula of logic or mathematics or natural science can longsur.-
vive which does not serve either the flight of Platonic dialectic
to the one or the returning Platonic agony of search for the mean,
term, its wonder in the first dismay of contradiction and its won¬
der at the finding.

R. Catesby Taliaferro

HAMILTON COLLEGE
JULY, 1944

THE TIMiUS

A DIALOGUE

ON NATURE

INTRODUCTION

T O

THE TIMiEUS

The design, says Proclus, of Plato’s Timaeus evidently vindi¬
cates to itself the whole of physiology, and is conversant from
beginning to end with the speculation of the universe. For the
book of Timaeus the Locrian concerning nature is composed after
the Pythagoric manner; and Plato, thence deriving his materials,
undertook to compose the present dialogue, according to the rela¬
tion of the scurrilous Timon. This dialogue, therefore, respects
physiology in all its parts; speculating the same things in images
and in exemplars, in wholes and in parts. For it is filled with all
the most beautiful modes of physiology, delivering things simple
for the sake of such as are composite, parts on account of wholes,
and images for the sake of exemplars; and it leaves none of the
primary causes of nature unexplored.

But Plato alone, of all the physiologists, has preserved the
Pythagoric mode in speculations about nature. For physiology
receives a threefold division, one part of which is conversant
with matter and material causes; but a second adds an inquiry
into form, and evinces that this is the more principal cause; and
lastly, a third part manifests that these do not rank in the order of
causes, but concauses; and, in consequence of this, establishes
other proper causes of things subsisting in nature, which it de¬
nominates producing, paradigmatical, and final causes. But this

being the case, all the physiologists prior to Plato, confining them¬
selves to speculations about matter, called this general receptacle
of things by different names. For, with respect to Anaxagoras
himself, as it appears, though while others were dreaming he per¬
ceived that intellect was the first cause of generated natures, yet
he made no use of intellect in his demonstrations, but rather con¬
sidered certain airs and ethers as the causes of the phenomena,
as we are informed by Socrates in the Phaedo. But the most ac¬
curate of those posterior to Plato, (such as the more early peripa¬
tetics,) contemplating matter in conjunction with form, consid¬
ered these as the principles of bodies; and if at any time they
mention a producing cause, as when they call nature a principle
of motion, they rather take away than establish his efficacious
and producing prerogative, while they do not allow that he con¬
tains the reasons 1 of his productions, but admit that many things
are the progeny of chance. But Plato, following the Pythagoreans,
delivers as the concauses of natural things, an all-receiving matter,
and a material form, as subservient to proper causes in genera¬
tion; but , prior to thes e, he investigates primary causes , i. e. the
producing , the paradigmatica l, and the final.

Hence, he places over the universe a demiurgic intellect and
an intelligible cause; in which last the universe and goodness
have a primary subsistence, and which is established above the
artificer of things in the order of the desirable, or, in other words,
is a superior object of desire. For, since that which is moved by
another, or a corporeal nature, is suspended from a motive power,
and is naturally incapable either of producing, perfecting or pre¬
serving itself, it evidently requires a fabricative cause for the
commencement and continuance of its being. The concauses,
therefore, of natural productions must necessarily be suspended
from true causes, as the sources of their existence, and for the
sake of which they were fabricated by the father of all things.

1 That Aristotle himself, however, was not of this opinion, I have shown
in the Introduction to my Translation of his Metaphysics.

With great propriety, therefore, are all these accurately ex¬
plored by Plato, and likewise the two depending from these, viz.
form, and the subject matter. For this world is not the same with
the intelligible and intellectual worlds, which are self-subsistent,
and consequently by no means indigent of a subject, but it is a
composite of matter and form. However, as it perpetually de¬
pends on these, like the shadow from the forming substanc e, Plato
assimilates it to intelligible animal itself; e v inces that it is a God
through its participation of good , and p erfectly defines the whol e
world to be a blessed God , participating of intellect and soul.

Such, then, being Plato’s design in the Timaeus, he very prop¬
erly in the beginning exhibits, through images, the order of the
universe; for it is usual with the Pythagoreans *, previous to the
tradition of a scientific doctrine, to present the reader with a
manifestation of the proposed inquiry, through similitudes and
images: but in the middle part the whole of Cosmogony is deliv¬
ered; and towards the end, partial natures, and such as are the
extremities of fabrication, are wove together with wholes them¬
selves. For the repetition of the Republic, which had been so
largely treated of before, and the Atlantic history, unfold through
images the theory of the world. For, if we consider the union and
multitude of mundane natures, we must say, that the summary
account of the Republic by Socrates, which establishes as its end
a communion pervading through the whole, is an image of its
union; but that the battle of the Atlantics against the Athenians,
which Critias relates, is an image of the distribution of the world,
and especially so according to the two coordinate oppositions of
things. For, if we make a division of the universe into celestial
and sublunai-y, we must say that the Republic is assimilated to
the celestial distribution; since Socrates himself asserts that its
paradigm is established in the heavens; but that the Atlantic war
corresponds to generation, which subsists through contrariety

1 Eivat y o.q xotg IIudaYOQEung eflog, jtqo trig Erctaxrmovtxrig 8 i8a(xxa*Mag
jtQOTiflevai TTjv 8 ia xcov onoicov, xai xcov eixovcov xcov ^xounevov axenn-attov
StiXcixjiv. Prod, in Tim. ^

and mutation. And such are the particulars which precede the
whole doctrine of physiology.

But after this the demiurgic, paradigmatic, and final causes of
the universe are delivered; from the prior subsistence of which
the universe is fabricated, both according to a whole and ac¬
cording to parts. For the corporeal nature of it is fabricated with
forms and demiurgic sections, and is distributed with divine
numbers; and soul is produced from the demiurgus, and is filled
with harmonic reasons and divine and fabricative symbols. The
whole mundane animal too is connected together, according to
the united comprehension which subsists in the intelligible
world; and the parts which it contains are distributed so as to
harmonize with the whole, both such as are corporeal and such
as are vital. For partial souls are introduced into its spacious
receptacle, are placed about the mundane Gods, and become
mundane through the luciform vehicles with which they are
connected, imitating their presiding and leading Gods. Mortal
animals too are fabricated and vivified by the celestial Gods; and
prior to these, the formation of man is delivered as a microcosm,
comprehending in himself partially every thing which the world
contains divinely and totally. For we are endued with an in¬
tellect subsisting in energy, and a rational soul proceeding from
the same father and vivific goddess as were the causes of the in¬
tellect and soul of the universe. We have likewise an ethereal
vehicle analogous to the heavens, and a terrestrial body com¬
posed from the four elements, and with which it is also coordi¬
nate. If, therefore, it be proper to contemplate the universe
multifariously both in an intelligible and sensible nature, para-
digmatically, and as a resemblance, totally and partially, a dis¬
course concerning the nature of man is very properly introduced
in the speculation of the universe.

With respect to the form and character of the dialogue, it is
acknowledged by all that it is composed according to the Pytha-
goric mode of writing. And this also must be granted by those
who are the least acquainted with the works of Plato, that the

manner of his composition is Socratic, philanthropic, and demon¬
strative. If, therefore, Plato any where mingles the Socratic and
Pythagoric property together, this must be apparent in the pres¬
ent dialogue. For it contains, agreeably to the Pythagoric cus¬
tom, elevation of intellect, together with intellectual and divine
conceptions: it likewise suspends every thing from intelligibles,
bounds wholes in numbers, exhibits things mystically and sym¬
bolically, is full of an elevating property, of that which trans¬
cends partial conceptions, and of the enunciative mode of com¬
position. But from the Socratic philanthropy it contains an easy
accommodation to familiar discourse, gentleness of manners,
proceeding by demonstration, contemplating things through
images, the ethical peculiarity, and every thing of this kind.
Hence, it is a venerable dialogue, and deduces its conceptions
from on high, from the first principles of things; but it mingles
the demonstrative with the enunciative, and prepares us to
understand physics, not only physically but theologically. For,
indeed, Na tur e herself rules over t he u niverse suspended from
the Gods , and directs t he fo r ms of bodies through the i nfluence
of their inspiring powe r; for she is neither herself a divinity , nor
yet without a divine characterist ic, but is full of illuminations
from all the variou s orders of the God s.

But if it be proper, as Timaeus says, that discourses should be
assimilated to the things of which they are the interpreters, it
will be necessary that the dialogue should contain both that
which is physical and that which is theological; imitating by this
mean Nature which it contemplates. Further still, since accord¬
ing to the Pythagoric doctrine things receive a triple division,
into such as are intelligible, such as are physical, and such as rank
in the middle of these, which the Pythagoreans usually call
mathematical, all these may very conveniently be viewed in all.
For in intelligibles things middle and last subsist in a causal man¬
ner; and in mathematical natures both are contained, such as
are first according to similitude, and such as are third after the
manner of an exemplar. And lastly, in natural things the re-

semblances of such as are prior subsist. With great propriety,
therefore, does Timaeus, when describing the composition of the
soul, exhibit her powers, and reasons, and the elements of her
nature, through mathematical names: but Plato defines the char¬
acteristics of these from geometrical figures, and at the same time
leaves the causes of all these pre-subsisting in a primary man¬
ner in the intelligible intellect, and the intellect of the artificer
of the universe.

And thus much for the manner of the dialogue; but its argu¬
ment or hypothesis is as follows. Socrates coming into the Piraeus
for the sake of the Bendidian festival, which was sacred to Diana,
and was celebrated prior to the Panathenaia 1 , on the twentieth
of the month Thargelion or June, discoursed there concerning
a republic with Polemarchus, Cephalus, Glauco, Adimantus,
and Thrasymachus the sophist. But on the following day he
related this discourse in the city to Timaeus, Critias, Hermocrates,
and a fourth nameless person. On the third day they end the
narration; and Timaeus commences from hence his discourse on
the universe, before Socrates, Critias, and Hermocrates; the same
nameless person who was present at the second narration being
now absent from the third.

With respect to the term nature , which is differently defined
by different philosophers, it is necessary to inform the reader,
that Plato does not consider either matter or material form, or
body, or natural powers, as worthy to be called nature; though
nature has been thus denominated by others. Nor does he think
proper to call it soul; but establishing its essence between soul
and corporeal powers, he considers it as inferior to the former
through its being divided about bodies, and its incapacity of
conversion to itself, but as surpassing the latter through its con¬
taining the reasons of all things, and generating and vivifying
every part of the visible world. For nature verges towards bodies,
and is inseparable from their fluctuating empire. Bu t soul is

1 Sacred to Minerva.

separate from body, is esta blished in hersel f, an d subsists both
from he rself and another; from another, that is, from intellec t
through participation, and fro m h erself o n acco unt of her n ot
verging to body , but abiding in her o wn essence, a nd at the same
time illuminating the obscure nature of ma tter with a secondary

life. Nature, therefore, is the last of the causes which fabricate
this corporeal and sensible world, bounds the progressions of
incorporeal essences, and is full of reasons and powers through
which she governs mundane affairs. And she is a goddess indeed,
considered as deified; but not according to the primary significa¬
tion of the word. For the word God is attributed by Plato, as
well as by the ancient theologists, to beings which participate of
the Gods. Hence every pure intellect is, according to the Pla¬
tonic philosophy, a God according to union ; every divine soul
accordin g to particip ation; every divine daemon accor ding to
conta ct; di vine bodies are Gods as statues of the Gods ; and even
the souls of the most exalted men are God s accordi ng to simili¬

tude; while in the mean time superessential n a tures onl y are
primarily and properly Gods. But nature governs the whole
world by her powers, by her summit comprehending the heavens,
but through these ruling over the fluctuating empire of genera¬
tion, and every where weaving together partial natures in ami¬
cable conjunction with wholes.

But as the whole of Plato’s philosophy is distributed into the
contemplation of intelligibles and sensibles, and this very prop¬
erly, since there is both an intelligible and sensible world, as
Plato himself asserts in the course of the dialogue; hence in the
P armenides he comprehends the doctrine of intelligibles. but in
the Timaeus of mundane natures. And in the former of these
dialogues he scientifically exhibits all the divine orders, but in
the latter all the progressions of such as are mundane. Nor does
the former entirely neglect the speculation of what the universe
contains, nor the latter of intelligibles themselves. And this
because sensibles are contained in intelligibles paradigmatically,

and intelligibles in sensibles according to similitude. But the
latter abounds more with physical speculations, and the former
with such as are theological; and this in a manner adapted to the
persons after whom die dialogues are called: to Timaeus on the
one hand, who had composed a book on the universe, and to
Parmenides on the other, who had written on true beings. The
divine Jamblichus, therefore, asserts very properly, that the
whole theory of Plato is comprehended in these two dialogues,
the Parmenides and Timaeus. For the whole doctrine of mun¬
dane and supermundane natures is accurately delivered in these,
and in the most consummate perfection; nor is any order of
beings left without investigation.

We may behold too the similitude of proceeding in the
Timaeus to that in the Parmenides. For, as Timaeus refers the
cause of every thing in the world to the first artificer, so Par¬
menides suspends the progression of all things from the one.
And as the former represents all things as participating of
demiurgic providence, so the other exhibits beings participating
of a uniform essence. And again, as Timaeus prior to his physiol¬
ogy presents us through images with the theory of mundane
natures, so Parmenides prior to his theology excites us to an in¬
vestigation of immaterial forms. For it is proper, after being ex¬
ercised in discourses about the best polity, to proceed to a con¬
templation of the universe; and, after an athletic contention
through strenuous doubts about ideas, to betake ourselves to the
mystic speculation of the unities of beings. And thus much for
the hypothesis or argument of the dialogue.

But as a more copious and accurate investigation of some of its
principal parts will be necessary, even to a general knowledge of
the important truths which it contains, previous to this I shall
present the reader with an abstract of that inimitable theory
respecting the connection of things, which is the basis of the
present work, and of the whole philosophy of Plato. For by a
comprehensive view of this kind we shall be better prepared for

a minute survey of the intricate parts of the dialogue, and be con¬
vinced how infinitely superior the long lost philosophy of
Pythagoras and Plato is to the experimental farrago of the
moderns.

Since the first cause is the good *, and this is the same with
the one , as is evident from the Parmenides, it is necessary that
the whole of things should be the most excellent, that is, the most
united that can possibly be conceived. But perfect union in the
whole of things can no otherwise take place than by the extremity
of a superior order coalescing, */.ara ayeacv, through habitude or
alliance, with the summit of an order which is proximately in¬
ferior. Again, with respect to all beings, it is necessary that some
should move or be motive only, and that others should be moved
only; and that between these there should be two mediums, the
self-motive natures, and those which move and at the same time
are moved. Now that which is motive only, and consequently
essentially immovable, is intellect, which possesses both its
essence and energy in eternity; the whole intelligence of which
is firmly established in indivisible union, and which though a
cause prior to itself participates of deific illumination. For it
possesses, says Plotinus, twofold energies; one kind indeed as
intellect, but the other in consequence of becoming as it were
intoxicated, and deifying itself with nectar. But that which is
self-motive is soul, which, on account of possessing its energy in
transition and a mutation of life, requires the circulations of
time to the perfection of its nature, and depends on intellect as
a more ancient and consequently superior cause. But that which
moves and is at the same time moved is nature, or that corporeal
life which is distributed about body, and confers generation,
nutrition and increase to its fluctuating essence. And lastly, that
which is moved only is body, which is naturally passive, imbecil
and inert.

Now, in consequence of the profound union subsisting in
1 See the sixth Book of the Republic.

things, it is necessary that the highest beings or intelligibles
should be wholly superessential, xaT<* oy/aiv, according to prox¬
imity or alliance; that the highest intellects should be beings,
the first of souls intellects, and the highest bodies lives, on ac¬
count of their being wholly absorbed as it were in a vital nature.
Hence, in order that the most perfect union possible may take
place between the last of incorporeals and the first of bodies, it is
necessary that the body of the world should be consummately
vital; or indeed, according to habitude and alliance, life itself.
But it is necessary that a body of this kind should be perpetually
generated, or have a subsistence in perpetually becoming to be.
For after intellect, which eternally abides the same both in
essence and energy, and soul, which is eternally the same in es¬
sence but mutable in energy, that nature must succeed which is
perpetually mutable both in essence and energy, and which con¬
sequently subsists in a perpetual dispersion of temporal exten¬
sion, and is co-extended with time. Such a body, therefore, is
very properly said to be generated, at the same time that this
generation is perpetual; because, on account of its divisibility
and extension, it alone derives its existence from an external
cause: likewise, because it is a composite, and because it is not at
once wholly that which it is, but possesses its being in continual
generation. This body, too, on account of the perpetuity of its
duration, though this is nothing more than a flowing eternity,
may be very properly called a whole with a total subsistence: for
every thing endued with a total subsistence is eternal; and this
may be truly asserted of the body of the world, when we consider
that its being is co-extended with the infinite progressions of
time. Hence, this divine or celestial body may be properly called
oX oq oXcxcos, or a whole totally, just as the limb of an animal
is [xepo? |xepixcD<;, or a part partially . But between whole totally
and part partially two mediums are necessarily required, viz.
part totally and whole partially ({xepo<; oXtxco? and oXoq [Aepixo)<;).
The parts , therefore, with a total subsistence which the world

contains, are no other than the celestial orbs, which are conse¬
quently eternal and divine, after the same manner as the whole
body of the world, together with the spheres of the elements;
and the wholes partially are no other than the individuals of the
various species of animals, such as a man, a horse, and the like.

Now this divine body, on account of its superiority to sublu¬
nary natures, was called by Aristotle a fifth body , and was said by
Plato to be composed for the most part from fire. But in order
to a more perfect comprehension of its nature, it is necessary
to observe, that the two elements which, according to Plato, are
situated in the extremes, are fire and earth, and that the char¬
acteristic of the former is visibility , and of the latter tangibility;
so that every thing becomes visible through fire, and tangible
through earth. Now the whole of this celestial body, which is
called by the ancients heaven, consists of an unburning vivific
fire, like the natural heat which our bodies contain, and the
illuminations of which give life to our mortal part. But the
stars are for the most part composed from this fire, containing at
the same time the summits of the other elements. Hence, heaven
is wholly of a fiery characteristic, but contains in a causal man¬
ner the powers of the other elements; as, for instance, the solidity
and stability of earth, the conglutinating and unifying nature of
water, and the tenuity and transparency of air. For, as earth com¬
prehends all things in a terrestrial manner, so the heavens con¬
tain all things according to a fiery characteristic.

But the following extraordinary passage from Proclus admi¬
rably unfolds the nature of this divine body, and the various
gradations of fire and the other elements. “It is necessary to
understand (says he x ) that the fire of the heavens is not the same
with sublunary fire, but that this is a divine fire consubsistent
with life, and an imitation of intellectual fire; while that which
subsists in the sublunary region is entirely material, generated

1 In Tim.

and corruptible. Pure fire, therefore, subsists in the heavens,
and there the whole of fire is contained; but earth according to
cause, subsisting there as another species of earth, naturally as¬
sociating with fire, as it is proper it should, and possessing
nothing but solidity alone. For, as fire there is illuminative, and
not burning, so earth there is not gross and sluggish, but each
subsists according to that which is the summit of each. And as
pure and true fire is there, so true earth subsists here, and the
luholeness, oXott 4 <; } of earth and fire is here according to par¬
ticipation, and materially, as earth is according to a primary sub¬
sistence. So that in heaven the summit of earth is contained, and
in earth the dregs and sediment of fire. But it is evident that
the moon has something solid and dark, by her obstructing the
light; for obstruction of light is alone the province of earth. The
stars too obstruct our sight, by casting a shadow of themselves
from on high. But since fire and earth subsist in heaven, it is
evident that the middle elements must be there also; air first of
all, as being most diaphanous and agile, but water, as being most
vaporous: each at the same time subsisting far purer than in the
sublunary region, that all things may be in all, and yet in an
accommodated manner in each.

“However, that the whole progression and gradations of the
elements may become apparent, it is necessary to deduce the
speculation of them from on high. These four elements, then,
fire, air, water, and earth, subsist first of all in the demiurgus of
wholes, uniformly according to cause. For all causes are previ¬
ously assumed in him, according to one comprehension; as well
the intellectual, divine, pure, and vigorous power of fire, as the
containing and vivific cause of air; and as well the prolific and
regerminating essence of water, as the firm, immutable, and un-

1 For it is necessary that the first subsistence of each of the elements should
be, as we have before observed, according to part total , in order to the
perfect union of the world; and this part total is called by the Platonists
oAoxrig, or a wholeness .

deviating form of earth. And this the theologist Orpheus know¬
ing, he thus speaks concerning the demiurgus:

His body’s boundless, stable, full of light.

And

Th’ extended region of surrounding air
Forms his broad shoulders, back and bosom fair.

Again,

His middle zone’s the spreading sea profound.

And

The distant realms of Tartarus obscure
Within earth’s roots his holy feet secure;

For these earth’s utmost bounds to Jove belong,

And form his basis, permanent and strong.

“But from these demiurgic causes a progression of the ele¬
ments into the universe takes place, but not immediately into
the sublunary world. For how can the most immaterial things
give subsistence to the most material without a medium; or
things immovable be immediately hypostatic of such as are
moved in all directions? Since the progression of things is no¬
where without a medium, but subsists according to a well-
ordered subjection; and generations into these material, dissi¬
pated, and dark abodes, take place through things of a proxi¬
mate order. Since, therefore, the elements in the demiurgus are
intellects and imparticipable intellectual powers, what will be
their first progression? Is it not manifest that they will yet remain
intellectual powers, but will be participated by mundane na¬
tures? For from imparticipable intellect the proximate progres¬
sion is to that which is participated. And, universally, progres¬
sion takes place from imparticipables to things participated,
and from supermundane to mundane forms. But what are these
things which yet remain intellectual, but are participated, and
what subjection do they possess? Is it not evident that they are

no longer intellectual (i. e. essentially intellectual)? But I call
those natures intellectual which are the forms of intellect, and
of a truly intellectual essence. But becoming participated, and
being no longer intellectual, it is evident that they are no longer
immovable natures. But, not being immovable, they must be
self-motive. For these are proximately suspended from immov¬
able natures; and from things essentially intellectual a progres¬
sion takes place to such as are so according to participation, and
from things immovable to such as are self-motive. These ele¬
ments, therefore, subsist in life, and are self-motive and intellec¬
tual according to participation. But the progression from this
must be manifest. For the immediate descent from life is to ani¬
mal; since this is proximate to life. And from that which is
essentially self-motive, to that which is self-motive according to a
participation of life. For, so far as it proceeds from life to ani¬
mal, it suffers a mutation. But so far as it proceeds from that
which is immaterial to things immaterial 1 , (that is, such as may
be called immaterial when contrasted with mutable matter,)
and from divine life to a divine essence, it becomes assimilated to
them. If, therefore, you take away from hence that which is im¬
material and immutable, you will produce that which is mutable
and material. And through this, indeed, they are diminished
from such as are before them; but on account of the symmetry
and order of their motions, and their immutability in their
mutations, they become assimilated to them. If, therefore, you
take away this order, you will behold the great confusion and
inconstancy of the elements; and this will be the last progression,
and the very dregs and sediment of all the prior gradations of
the elements.

‘‘Of the elements, therefore, some are immovable, impartici-
pable, intellectual and demiurgic; but others are intellectual and
immovable according to essence, but participated by mundane

1 He means the divine bodies of the stars, and the body of the heavens;
which, compared with sublunary bodies, may be justly called immaterial
bodies.

natures. Others again are self-motive, and essentially lives; but
others are self-motive and vital, but are not lives. Some again are
alter-motive, or moved by another, but are moved in an orderly
manner; and, lastly, others have a disordered, tumultuous, and
confused subsistence. ,,

Such then is the progression of the elements, and such the
nature of a celestial body. But, if the body of the world be spheri¬
cal, and this must necessarily be the case, as a sphere is the most
perfect of figures, and the world the best of effects, there must be
some part in it corresponding to a centre, and this can be no other
than earth. For, in an orderly progression of things, that which
is most distant, and the last, is the worst; and this we have already
shown is the earth. But in a sphere, that which is most distant
from the superficies is the centre; and, therefore, earth is the
centre of the world. This conclusion, indeed, will doubtless be
ridiculed by every sagacious modern, as too absurd in such an
enlightened age as the present to deserve the labour of a con¬
futation. However, as it follows by an inevitable consequence
from the preceding theory, and this theory is founded on the
harmonious union of things, we may safely assert that it is con-
subsistent with the universe itself. At such a period, indeed, as
the present, when there is such a dire perversion of religion, and
men of every description are involved in extreme impiety, we
cannot wonder that the spirit of profane innovation should cause
a similar confusion in the system of the world. For men of the
present day being destitute of true science, and not having the
least knowledge of the true nature and progressions of things, in
the first place make the universe an unconnected production,
generated in time, and of course naturally subject to dissolution;
and, in the next place, allow of no essential distinction in its
principal parts. Hence, the earth is by them hurled into the
heavens, and rolled about their central sun in conjunction with
the celestial orbs. The planets are supposed to be heavy bodies
similar to our sluggish earth; the fixed stars are all so many suns;
and the sun himself is a dense, heavy body, occasionally suffering

dimness in his light, and covered with dark and fuliginous spots.
With respect to this last particular, indeed, they boast of ocular
conviction through the assistance of the telescope; and what rea¬
soning can invalidate the testimony of the eyes? I answer, that
the eyes in this particular are more deceived when assisted by
glasses, than when trusting to their own naked power of per¬
ceiving. For, in reality, we do not perceive the heavenly bodies
themselves, but their inflammations in the air: or, in other words,
certain portions of air enkindled by the swiftness of their course.
This at least cannot be denied to be possible; and, if so, it is not
at all wonderful that a gross aerial inflammation should, when
viewed through a telescope, appear dim and clouded with spots.
But this is not an hypothesis of my own invention, but is derived
from Ammonius Hermeas, who, as we are informed by Olym-
piodorus in the Phaedo, was of this opinion, as also was Heraclitus
long before him; who, speaking (says Olympiodorus) in his ob¬
scure way concerning the sun, says of that luminary “enkindling
measures and extinguishing measures ,”—that is, enkindling an
image of himself in the air when he rises, the same becoming ex¬
tinguished when he sets.

Nor let the moderns fondly imagine that their system of as¬
tronomy was adopted by Pythagoras and his followers, for this
opinion is confuted by Spanheim and Dickinson; and this, says
Fabricius 1 , with no contemptible arguments: and we are in¬
formed by Simplicius 2 , long before them, that the Pythagoreans
by the fire in the middle did not mean the sun, but a demiurgic
vivific fire, seated in the centre of the earth. The prophecy of
Swift, therefore, in his Gulliver’s Travels, that the boasted theory
of gravitation would at one time or other be exploded, may cer¬
tainly be considered as a most true prediction, at least so far as
relates to the celestial orbs.

But to return from this digression. The inerratic sphere, ac-

1 Vid. Biblioth. Graec. vol. 1. de Orpheo.

2 In Aristot. de Ccelo, lib. 2.

cording to the Platonic philosophy, has the relation of a monad
to the multitude of stars which it contains; or, in other words, it
is the proximate cause of this multitude which it contains, and
with which it has a coordinate subsistence. But, according to the
same philosophy, all the planets are fixed in solid spheres, in con¬
formity to the motions of which they perpetually revolve; but,
at the same time, have peculiar motions of their own besides
those of the spheres 1 . These spheres too are all concentric, or
have the same centre with the earth and the universe, and do not
consist of hard impenetrable matter, as the moderns have igno¬
rantly supposed; for being divine or immaterial bodies, such as
we have already described, they have nothing of the density and
gravity of this our earth, but are able to permeate each other
without division, and to occupy the same place together; just like
the illuminations emitted from several lamps, which pass
through the whole of the same room at once, and pervade each
other without confusion, divulsion, or any apparent distinction.
So that these spheres are similar to mathematical bodies, so far as
they are immaterial, free from contrariety, and exempt from
every passive quality; but are different from them, so far as they
are full of motion and life. But they are concealed from our
sight through the tenuity and subtility of their nature, while, on
the contrary, the fire of the planets which are carried in them is
visible through the solidity which it possesses. So that earth is
more predominant in the planets than in the spheres; though
each subsists, for the most part, according to the characteristic
of fire. But let it be carefully remembered, that the peculiarity
of all fire is the being visible, but that neither heat nor fluidity
belongs to every species of fire: and that the property of all earth
is the being tangible, but that gravity and subsiding downwards
do not belong to all.

But, in consequence of each of these spheres being aoXoTYjg,
or part with a total subsistence, as we have already explained, it

1 For Plato makes no mention of epicycles and eccentric circles.

follows that every planet has a number of satellites surrounding
it, analogous to the choir of the fixed stars, and that every sphere
is full of Gods, angels, and daemons, subsisting according to the
properties of the spheres in which they reside. This theory in¬
deed is the grand key to the theology of the ancients, as it shows
us at one view why the same God is so often celebrated with the
names of other Gods; which led Macrobius formerly to think
that all the Gods were nothing more than the different powers
of the sun; and has induced certain superficial moderns, to frame
hypotheses concerning the ancient theology so ridiculous, that
they deserve to be considered in no other light than the ravings
of a madman, or the undisciplined conceptions of a child. But
that the reader may be fully convinced of this, let him attend to
the following extraordinary passages from the divine commen¬
taries of Proclus on the Timasus. And, in the first place, that every
planet is attended with a great number of satellites, is evident
from the following citation;—“There are other divine animals
attending upon the circulations of the planets, the leaders of
which are the seven planets; and these revolve and return in their
circulations in conjunction with their leaders, just as the fixed
stars are governed by the circulation of the inerratic sphere.”—
Ei&svat xac aXXa £coa Osta enq oupavta amxopifiva Tate twv xXava)-
|/.£vo)v 7cspt<popat<;, (bv r)Y£fJtov£<; £tatv 6t IzTa. — Kat <rj[i.x£ptxoX£t, xat
(juvaTroxaOtaTaTat eatq iauxcov ap^ats, d>T7U£p xat ea axXavY] xpaT£tTat
utuo ty \q oXyjs rapKpopas. 1 And in the same place he informs us, that
the revolution of these satellites is similar to that of the planets
which they attend; and this, he acquaints us a little before, is
according to Plato a spiral revolution. Kat ^ap TauTaTp£xo[/.£va
£tfTt, xat xXaVYjV £^0VTa TOtaUTYJV, Otav £tpYJX£V X£pc TCDV £XTa [Jltxpcp
xpoT£pov. Again, with respect to their number—“about every
planet there is a number (of satellites) analogous to the choir of
the fixed stars, all of them subsisting with proper circulations
of their own.”—E cti ^ap xaO’ IxaarTYjv aptQptos avaXoyov T<p twv

1 Vid. Prod, in Tim.

aa -ptov xopcp, auvaipeaTO? -cat? oixstatq irspupopau;.—And if it should
be inquired why, with respect to the fixed stars, there is one
monad, the wholeness (oXo-tr)?) of them; but among the planets
there is both a oXo-tr;?, zvholeness or totality, that is the sphere
of each, and a leader besides in each, that is the apparent orb;
he answers in the same place, that as the motion of the planets
is more various than that of the fixed stars, so their posses¬
sion of government is more abundant, for they proceed into a
greater multitude. He adds—But in the sublunary regions there
is still a greater number of governors; for the monads (that is,
totalities) in the heavens generate a number analogous to them¬
selves. So that the planets being secondary to the fixed stars, re¬
quire a twofold government; one of which is more total and the
other more partial.

But with respect to the satellites, the first in order about every
planet are Gods; after these, daemons revolve in lucid orbicular
bodies; and these are followed by partial souls such as ours, as
the following beautiful passage abundantly evinces. “But that
in each of these (the planetary spheres) there is a multitude co¬
ordinate to each, you may infer from the extremes. For if the
inerratic sphere has a multitude coordinate to itself, and earth is,
with respect to terrestrial animals, what the inerratic sphere is to
such as are celestial, it is necessary that every xuholeness should
possess certain partial animals coordinate to itself, through which
also the spheres derive the appellation of wholenesses. But the na¬
tures situated in the middle are concealed from our sense, while,
in the mean time, those contained in the extremes are apparent;
one sort through their transcendently lucid essence, and the other
through their alliance to ourselves. But if partial souls are dis¬
seminated about these spheres, some about the sun, some about
the moon, and others about each of the remaining spheres 1 ; and
if prior to souls there are daemons filling up the herds of which
they are the leaders; it is evidently beautifully said that each of

1 This Plato himself asserts in the following dialogue.

the spheres is a world. And this is agreeable to the doctrines of
theologists, when they teach us that there are Gods in every
sphere prior to daemons, the government of some receiving its
perfection under that of others. As for instance with respect to
our queen the Moon, that she contains the goddess Hecate and
Diana; and with respect to our sovereign the Sun, and the Gods
which he contains, theologists celebrate Bacchus as subsisting
there,

The Sun’s assessor, who with watchful eye

Inspects the sacred pole:

They also celebrate Jupiter as seated there, Osiris, and a solar
Pan, as likewise other divinities, of which the books of
theologists and theurgists are full; from all which it is evi¬
dent how true it is that each of the planets is the leader of
many Gods, which fill up its proper circulation V*—Ckt Bs y.at
ev exadTfl toutcov xXyjOo? scttiv syaaTf) gustoi/ov, xaTa<nuuao , eia<; av
axo tcov aypcov. Et y a P *] axXavqs eyet ctusto^ov sa'JTY) xXyjQo?, yat
r) y*1 wv X® OVI(OV ^cocov sjti, cb<; ey.etvr, tcov oupavtcov, avayyY] y.at
EyaaTYjv oXoTYjxa xavTco<; s^etv {Jispiya aTTa auaTOt^a xpo<; ajTiQ £coa,
Bta yat oXotyjts*; XsYOVTat, AavOavst Bs y;[acov tgj p.E<ra ty)v ataOir/jiv,
TCOV QfypCOV B*Y)XcOV OVTCOV, TCOV |A£V, Bta TYJV UXSpXajlXpOV ouatav, TCOV Bs
Bta t r t v xpoq Yj[xa<; <n>YY eV£iav * Et Be yat pispiyat <j>uxat xspt auT 0 J<;
£axapr ( aav, aXXat (asv xspt YjXtov, aXXat Be xspt udr^v, aXXat Be xspt
syaaTOv tcov Xotxcov, yat xpo tcov ^ux wv ^atpiovss aufxxXYjpoucrt xa<;
ayeXaq cbv statv yjy 8 ^ 0 ^? SyjXov oti yaXco? stpYjTat yoa[iov syaai^v
Etvac tcov <r<patpcov, yat tcov OeoXoy^v Y)[xa<; Tama BtaayovTcov, oxOTav
xspt eya<JTOu$ Dsou? ev auTOtg Etvat, xpo tcov Batpiovcov, aXXous uxo tcov
aXXcov TsXo’JVTai; YjYept-ovtav, otov, yat xspt tyj<; BsaxotVY]? y][acov EeXyjvyjs,
OTt yat r) *EyaTYj Osa ecttiv ev auTY), yat yj ApTspu?, y.at xspt toj ^aaiXsco?
'HXtou yat tcov syst Oecov, tov syst Atovuaov u|xvouvts£, f HsXto<; xapsBpos
Extayoxscov xoXov aYvov, tov Ata tov syst, tov Oatptv, tov 11 ava tov
YjXtayov, tou<; aXXous, cbv ot £t6Xot xXr ( pst<; stat tcov OsoXoycov yat tcov
OsoupYcov, si; cbv axavTcov ByjXgv, oxcos aXYjOs<;, yat tcov xXavcopisvcov
eyaaTOv aY£Xap^Y)V stvat xoXXcov Oscov, aoptxXYjpouvTcov auTOo tyjv tBtav
xspt<popav.

1 Procl. in Tim.

Now, from this extraordinary passage, we may perceive at one
view why the Sun in the Orphic hymns is called Jupiter, why
Apollo is called Pan, and Bacchus the sun; why the Moon seems
to be the same with Rhea, Ceres, Proserpine, Juno, Venus, 8cc.
and, in short, why any one divinity is celebrated with the names
and epithets of so many of the rest. For from this sublime theory
it follows that every sphere contains a Jupiter, Neptune, Vulcan,
Vesta, Minerva, Mars, Ceres, Juno, Diana, Mercury, Venus,
Apollo, and in short every deity, each sphere at the same time
conferring on these Gods the peculiar characteristic of its na¬
ture; so that, for instance, in the sun they all possess a solar prop¬
erty, in the moon a lunar one, and so of the rest. From this theory
too we may perceive the truth of that divine saying of the
ancients, that all things are full of Gods; for more particular
orders proceed from such as are more general, the mundane
from the supermundane, and the sublunary from the celestial;
while earth becomes the general receptacle of the illuminations
of all the Gods. “Hence (says Proclus 1 ) there is a terrestrial
Ceres, Vesta, and Isis, as likewise a terrestrial Jupiter and a ter¬
restrial Hermes, established about the one divinity of the earth;
just as a multitude of celestial Gods proceeds about the one
divinity of the heavens. For there are progressions of all the
celestial Gods into the earth; and earth contains all things, in an
earthly manner, which heaven comprehends celestially. Hence
we speak of a terrestrial Bacchus, and a terrestrial Apollo, who
bestows the all-various streams of water with which the earth
abounds, and openings prophetic of futurity." And if to all this
we only add that all the other mundane Gods subsist in the
twelve above mentioned, and that the first triad of these is demi¬
urgic or fabricative, viz. Jupiter, Neptune, Vulcan; the second,
Vesta, Minerva, Mars, defensive; the third, Ceres, Juno, Diana,
vivific; and the fourth, Mercury, Venus, Apollo, elevating and
harmonic:—! say, if we unite this with the preceding theory,

1 In Tim.

there is nothing in the ancient theology that will not appear
admirably sublime and beautifully connected, accurate in all its
parts, scientific and divine. Such then being the true account of
the Grecian theology, what opinion must we form of the
wretched systems of modern mythologists; and which most de¬
serves our admiration, the impudence or ignorance of the authors
of such systems? The systems indeed of these men are so mon¬
strously absurd, that we may consider them as instances of the
greatest distortion of the rational faculty which can possibly
befall human nature, while connected with such a body as the
present. For one of these considers the Gods as merely symbols
of agriculture, another as men who once lived on the earth 1 ,
and a third as the patriarchs and prophets of the Jews. Surely
should these systems be transmitted to posterity, the historian by
whom they are related must either be considered by future
generations as an impostor, or his narration must be viewed in
the light of an extravagant romance.

I only add, as a conclusion to this sublime theory, that though
the whole of the celestial region is composed from the four ele¬
ments, yet in some places fire in conjunction with earth (i. e.
earth without gravity and density) predominates; in others fire,
with the summit of water; and in others again fire with the sum¬
mit of air: and according to each of these an all-various mutation
subsists. Hence some bodies in the heavens are visible, and these
are such as have fire united with the solid; but others are still
more visible 2 , and these are such as have fire mingled with the
splendid and diaphanous nature of air. And hence the spheres of
the planets, and the inerratic sphere itself, possess a more at¬
tenuated and diaphanous essence; but the stars are of a more
solid composition. But fire everywhere prevails, and all heaven
is characterized through the power of this exalted element. And

1 Sec my notes on the Cratylus.

2 That is, in themselves: but they are invisible to us, on account of their
possessing but little of the resisting nature of earth; and this is the reason
why we cannot see the celestial spheres.

neither is the fire there caustic (for this is not even the property
of the first of the sublunary elements, which Aristotle calls fiery,
7uupoei$e<;) nor corruptive of anything, nor of a nature contrary
to earth; but it perpetually shines with a pure and transparent
light, with vivific heat, and illuminating power.

And such are the outlines of the system of the world, accord¬
ing to Pythagoras and Plato; which, strange as the assertion may
seem, appears to have been but little known from the aera of the
emperor Justinian to the present time. That beautiful mode in
which as we have shown the elements subsist both in the heavens
and the earth, has not been even suspected by modern natural
philosophers to have any existence; and astronomers have been
very far from the truth in their assertions concerning the celestial
spheres. In consequence of indolence, or ignorance, or prejudice,
or from all three in conjunction, the moderns have invented
systems no less discordant with the nature of things than differ¬
ent from each other. They have just been able to gain a glimpse
of the beautiful union of things in the vegetable and animal
tribes belonging to the earth, and have discovered that the lowest
of the animal species and the highest of the vegetable approxi¬
mate so near to each other, that the difference between the two
can scarcely be perceived; but this is the very summit of their
researches; they are unable to trace the connection of things any
further, and rest satisfied in admitting that

The chain continues, but with links unknown.

The divine nature of the celestial bodies cannot be seen through
the telescope, and incorporeals are not to be viewed with a micro¬
scopic eye: but these instruments are at present the great stand¬
ards of truth; and whatever opposes or cannot be ascertained by
the testimony of these, is considered as mere conjecture, idle
speculation, and a perversion of the reasoning power.

But let us now proceed to a summary view of some of the prin¬
cipal parts of this most interesting dialogue. And, in the first

place, with respect to the history which is related in the begin¬
ning, concerning a war between the inhabitants of the Atlantic
island and the Athenians:-Crantor, the most early of Plato’s
commentators, considered this relation (says Proclus) as a mere
history unconnected with allegory; while other Platonists, on
the contrary, have considered it as an allegory alone. But both
these opinions are confuted by Proclus and the best of the Pla¬
tonists; because Plato calls it a very wonderful, but at the same
time true, narration. So that it is to be considered as a true his¬
tory, exhibiting at the same time an image of the opposition of
the natures which the universe contains. But according to
Amelius 1 it represents the opposition between the inerratic
sphere and the fixed stars; according to Origen 2 , the contest be¬
tween daemons of a superior and those of an inferior order; ac¬
cording to Numenius, the disagreement between more excellent
souls who are the attendants of Pallas, and such as are conversant
with generation under Neptune. Again, according to Porphyry,
it insinuates the contest between daemons deducing souls into
generation, and souls ascending to the Gods. For Porphyry gives
a three-fold distinction to daemons; asserting that some are
divine, that others subsist according to habitude, -/.ara syeTtv,
among which partial souls rank when they are allotted a
daemoniacal condition, and that others are evil and noxious to
souls. He asserts, therefore, that this lowest order of daemons
always contends with souls in their ascent and descent, especially
western daemons; for, according to the Egyptians, the west is
accommodated to daemons of this description. But the exposi¬
tion of Jamblichus, Syrianus and Proclus is doubtless to be pre¬
ferred, as more consistent with the nature of the dialogue; which
refers it to the opposition perpetually flourishing in the universe
between unity and multitude, bound and infinity, sameness and
difference, motion and permanency, from which all things, the

1 A disciple of Plotinus contemporary with Porphyry.

2 Not the father, of that name, but a disciple of Ammonius Saccas, and
contemporary with Plotinus.

first cause being excepted, are composed. Likewise, being has
either an essential or accidental subsistence, and is either in¬
corporeal or corporeal: and if incorporeal, it either verges or
does not verge to body. But bodies are either simple and imma¬
terial, as the celestial bodies, or simple and material, as those of
an aerial nature, or composite and material, as those of earth.
So that the opposition of all these is occultly signified by that
ancient war, the higher and more excellent natures being every¬
where implied by the Athenians, and those of a contrary order by
the inhabitants of the Atlantic island.

That the reader, however, may be convinced that Plato’s ac¬
count of the Atlantic island is not a fiction of his own devising,
let him attend to the following relation of one Marcellus, who
wrote an history of ^Ethiopian affairs, according to Proclus 1 :—

That such, and so great, an island once existed, is evinced by
those who have composed histories of things relative to the ex¬
ternal sea. For they relate that in their times there were
seven islands in the Atlantic sea, sacred to Proserpine: and
besides these, three others of an immense magnitude; one of
which was sacred to Pluto, another to Ammon, and another,
which is the middle of these, and is of a thousand stadia, to
Neptune. And besides this, that the inhabitants of this last island
preserved the memory of the prodigious magnitude of the
Atlantic island, as related by their ancestors; and of its govern¬
ing for many periods all the islands in the Atlantic sea. And
such is the relation of Marcellus in his aEthiopic history.”
'On [iev eyevexo xotau tk] ti; vr.ao? y.at TijXtxaoTr), SvjXoutrt rive; tuv
tJTOpouvTWv T« zept e«co flaX<mn«- etvat yap xstt ev tots autuv
ypovoi 5 ezxa [lev vtjoo'js ev exetvtj) toj zeXayet II epae^ovr;; tepee;, xpet;
oe aXXa? azXexoui;, xr,v [isv II Xoimovo;, tr,v 3e Afijicovo;, [lesijv 2 e
Ttmuv aXXtjv IloastStovos, ytXttov axaStuv to [isyeGo?. Kat too? ot-
xouvxa; ev ccjvq |ivt][it;v azo xuv zpoyovtov Staaco^etv zept ty;; AxXavxt-
5o; ovxu; yevo|ievr); ey.et vtjuoo zajiiieyaOeT-aTr,;, r,v eze zoXXa; zept-

1 In Tim.

oBous Suvaateiwat itascov twv ev A'cXctV'ttxo) TcsXayet vr)<r&)v. Tawa [/.ev
ouv 6 MapxeXXo? ev ton; AiOtoiuxots yEypo^ev.

Indeed it is not at all wonderful that so large an island should
once have existed, nor improbable that many more such exist at
present, though to us unknown, if we only consider the Platonic
theory concerning the earth, of which the reader will find an
account in the Introduction to the Phtedo, and which the follow¬
ing extraordinary passage from Proclus 1 abundantly confirms.
“It is here (says he) requisite to remember the Platonic hy¬
potheses concerning the earth. For Plato does not measure its
magnitude after the same manner as mathematicians; but thinks
that its interval is much greater, as Socrates asserts in the Phaedo.
In which dialogue also he says, that there are many habitable parts
similar to our abode. 2 And hence he relates that an island and
continent of this kind exist in the external or Atlantic sea. For,
indeed, if the earth be naturally spherical, it is necessary that it
should be such according to its greatest part. But the parts which
we inhabit, both internally and externally, exhibit great inequal¬
ity. In some parts of the earth, therefore, there must be an ex¬
panded plain, and an interval extended on high. For, according

1 In Tim.

2 The latter Platonists appear to have been perfectly convinced that the
earth contains two quarters in an opposite direction to Europe and Asia;
and Olympiodorus even considers Plato as of the same opinion, as the
following passage from his commentary on this part of the Phaedo clearly
evinces.—“Plato (says he) directs his attention to four parts of the globe, as
there are two parts which we inhabit, i. e. Europe and Asia; so that there
must be two others, in consequence of the antipodes.”

Kaxaaxoxa^exai 5e xtov xeauagcov (xojudv) ejueiSii 8uo xcdPruiag eiaiv,
fi Euqojxt] xai fj Aoia, cdoxe 6uo aUoi xaxa xoug avxuioSag. Now in con¬
sequence of this, as they were acquainted with Africa, the remaining fourth
quarter must be that which we call America. At the same time let it be care¬
fully remembered, that these four quarters are nothing more than four
holes with respect to the whole earth, which contains many such parts; and
that consequently they are not quarters of the earth itself, but only of a
small part of the earth in which they are contained, like a small globe in
one of a prodigious extent.

to the saying of Heraclitus, he who passes through a very pro¬
found region will arrive at the Atlantic mountain, whose mag¬
nitude is such, according to the relation of the ^Ethiopian his¬
torians, that it touches the aether, and casts a shadow of five thou¬
sand stadia in extent; for from the ninth hour of the day the sun
is concealed by it, even to his perfect demersion under the earth.
Nor is this wonderful: for Athos, a Macedonian mountain, casts
a shadow as far as to Lemnos, which is distant from it seven
hundred stadia. Nor are such particulars as these, which Mar-
cellus the yEthiopic historian mentions, related only concerning
the Atlantic mountain; but Ptolemy also says that the lunar
mountains are of an immense height; and Aristotle, that Cau¬
casus is enlightened by the rays of the sun a third part of the
night after sun-set, and a third part before the rising of the sun.
And if any one considers the whole magnitude of the earth,
bounded by its elevated parts, he will conclude that it is truly of
a prodigious magnitude, according to the assertion of Plato.”

In the next place, by the fable of Phaeton we must understand
the destruction of a considerable part of the earth through fire,
by means of a comet being dissolved of a solar nature. Likewise,
when he mentions a deluge, it is necessary to remember, that
through the devastations of these two elements, fire and water,
a more prolific regeneration of things takes place at certain
periods of time; and that when Divinity intends a reformation,
the heavenly bodies concur with this design in such a manner,
that when a conflagration is about to take place, then, according
to Berosus 1 the Chaldaean, all the planets are collected together
in Cancer; but when a deluge, then the planets meet in Capri¬
corn. With respect to Pallas and Neptune, who are mentioned
in this part of the dialogue, as the reader will find an account of
these Divinities in the Notes to the Cratylus, I shall only add at
present, that, according to Proclus, Minerva most eminently pre¬
sides in the celestial constellation called the Ram, and in the

1 Vid. Senec. Natural. Quaest. III.

equinoctial circle, where a power motive of the universe prin¬
cipally prevails.

Again, it is necessary to understand, that when the world is
said by Plato to be generated, this term expresses its flowing and
composite nature, and does not imply any temporal commence¬
ment of its existence. For, as the world was necessarily produced
according to essential power, this being the most perfect of all
modes of operation, it is also necessary that it should be coexist¬
ent with its artificer; just as the sun produces light coexistent with
itself, fire heat, and snow coldness. The reader must, however,
carefully observe, that when we say it is necessary that the cause
of the universe should operate according to power, we do not
understand a necessity which implies violence or constraint; but
that necessity which Aristotle 1 defines as the perfectly simple,
and which cannot have a multifarious subsistence. And hence
this term, when applied to the most exalted natures, to whom
alone in this sense it belongs, signifies nothing more than an
impossibility of subsisting otherwise titan they do, without fall¬
ing from the perfection of their nature. Agreeably to this defini¬
tion, Necessity was called by ancient theologists Adrastia and
Themis, or the perfectly right and just: and if men of the present
day had but attended to this signification of the word, i. e. if any
edition of Aristotle’s works, with a copious index mentioning
this sense of necessity, had fortunately existed, they would not
have ignorantly supposed that this word, when applied to divine
natures, signified constraint, violence, and over-ruling power.
As intellect, therefore, is eternal, both according to essence and
energy, and as soul is eternal in essence, but temporal in energy,
so the world is temporal both in essence and energy. Hence,
every thing prior to soul always is, and is never generated; but
soul both is, and is perpetually generated; and the world never
is, but is always generated: and whatever the world contains in
like manner never is; but instead of being always generated, like

1 Metaphys. lib. 5.

the whole world, is so at some particular time. Because the
world therefore is conversant with perpetual motion and time,
it may be said to be always generated, or advancing towards
being; and therefore never truly is. So that it resembles the
image of a mountain beheld in a torrent, which has the appear¬
ance of a mountain without the reality, and which is continually
renewed by the continual renovation of the stream. But soul,
which is eternal in essence, and temporal in energy, may be com¬
pared to the image of the same rock beheld in a pool, and which,
of course, when compared with the image in the torrent, may be
said to be permanently the same. In fine, as Proclus well ob¬
serves, Plato means nothing more by generation than the forma¬
tion of bodies, i. e. a motion or procession towards the integrity
and perfection of the universe.

Again, by the demiurgus and father of the world we must
understand Jupiter, who subsists at the extremity of the intellec¬
tual triad 1 ; and <mo £o)ov, or animal itself, which is the exemplar
of the world, and from the contemplation of which it was fabri¬
cated by Jupiter, is the last of the intelligible triad , and is same
with the Phanes of Orpheus: for the theologist represents Phanes
as an animal with the heads of various beasts, as may be seen in
our Notes to the Parmenides. Nor let the reader be disturbed
on finding that, according to Plato, the first cause is not the im¬
mediate cause of the universe; for this is not through any defect
or imbecility of nature, but, on the contrary, is the consequence
of transcendency of power. For, as the first cause is the same with
the one y a unifying energy must be the prerogative of his nature;
and as he is likewise perfectly superessential, if the world were
his immediate progeny, it must be as much as possible super¬
essential and profoundly one: but as this is not the case, it is
necessary that it should be formed by intellect and moved by
soul. So that it derives the unity and goodness of its nature from
the first cause, the orderly disposition and distinction of its parts

1 See the Notes on the Cratylus and Parmenides.

from Jupiter its artificer, and its perpetual motion from soul;
the whole at the same time proceeding from the first cause
through proper mediums. Nor is it more difficult to conceive
matter after this manner invested with form and distributed
into order, than to conceive a potter making clay with his own
hands, giving it a shape when made, through the assistance of a
wheel, and, when fashioned, adorning it through another in¬
strument with figures; at the same time being careful to remem¬
ber, that in this latter instance different instruments are required
through the imbecility of the artificer, but that in the former
various mediums are necessary from the transcendency of power
which subsists in the original cause. And from all this it is easy
to infer, that matter was not prior to the world by any interval
of time, but only in the order of composition; priority here im¬
plying nothing more than that which must be considered as
first in the construction of the world. Nor was it hurled about in
a disordered state prior to order; but this only signifies its con¬
fused and tumultuous nature, when considered in itself, divested
of the supervening irradiations of form.

With respect to the four elements, I add, in addition to what
has been said before, that their powers are beautifully disposed
by Proclus as follows, viz:

Fire.

Subtle, acute, movable.
Water.

Dense, blunt, movable.

Air.

Subtle, blunt, movable.
Earth.

Dense, blunt, immovable.

In which disposition you may perceive how admirably the two
extremes fire and earth are connected, though indeed it is the
peculiar excellence of the Platonic philosophy to find out in
every thing becoming mediums through that part of the dialectic
art called division; and it is owing to this that the philosophy
itself forms so regular and consistent a whole. But I have in¬
vented the following numbers for the purpose of representing
this distribution of the elements arithmetically.

Let the number 60 represent fire, and 480 earth; and the
mediums between these, viz. 120 and 240, will correspond to air
and water. For as 60 : 120 :: 240 : 480. But 60 = 3 X 5 X 4 -

120 = 3 X 10 X 4- 2 4° = 6 X 10 X 4- and 480 = 6 X 10
X 8. So that these numbers will correspond to the properties of
the elements as follows:

Fire :

3 X 5 X 4 :

Subtle, acute, movable :

Water :

Air ::

3 X 10 X 4 •:

Subtle, blunt, movable.

Earth.

6 x 10 X 4 ::

Dense, blunt, movable ::

6x 10 X 8

Dense, blunt, immovable.

With respect to fire it must be observed, that the Platonists
consider light, flame, and a burning coal, ipXo?, avOpa!;,

as differing from each other; and that a subjection or remission
of fire takes place from on high to the earth, proceeding, as we
have before observed, from that which is more immaterial, pure,
and incorporeal, as far as to the most material and dense bodies:
the last procession of fire being subterranean; for, according to
Empedocles, there are many rivers of fire under die earth. So
that one kind of fire is material and another immaterial, i. e.
when compared with sublunary matter; and one kind is cor¬
ruptible, but another incorruptible; and one is mixed with air,
but another is perfectly pure. The characteristic too of fire is
neither heat nor a motion upwards, for this is the property only
of our terrestrial fire; and this in consequence of not subsisting
in its proper place: but the essential peculiarity of fire is visibil¬
ity; for this belongs to all fire, i. e. to the divine, the mortal, the
burning, and the impetuous. It must, however, be carefully ob¬
served, that our eyes are by no means the standards of this visibil¬
ity: for we cannot perceive the celestial spheres, on account of
fire and air in their composition so much predominating over
earth; and many terrestrial bodies emit no light when consider-

ably heated, owing to the fire which they contain being wholly
absorbed, as it were, in gross and ponderous earth.

In like manner, with respect to earth, the characteristic of its
nature is solidity and tangibility, but not ponderosity and a
tendency downwards; for these properties do not subsist in every
species of earth. Hence, when we consider these two elements
according to their opposite subsistence, we shall find that fire is
always in motion, but earth always immovable; that fire is emi¬
nently visible, and earth eminently tangible; and that fire is of a
most attenuated nature through light, but that earth is most
dense through darkness. So that as fire is essentially the cause of
light, in like manner, earth is essentially the cause of darkness;
while air and water subsisting as mediums between these two,
are, on account of their diaphanous nature, the causes of visibil¬
ity to other things, but not to themselves. In the mean time
moisture is common both to air and water, connecting and con-
glutinating earth, but becoming the seat of fire, and affording
nourishment and stability to its flowing nature.

With respect to the composition of the mundane soul, it is
necessary to observe that there are five genera of being, from
which all things after the first being are composed, viz. essence ,
permanency, motion, sameness, difference . For every thing must
possess essence ; must abide in its cause, from which also it must
proceed , and to which it must be converted ; must be the same
with itself and certain other natures, and at the same time differ¬
ent from others and distinguished in itself. But Plato, for the
sake of brevity, assumes only three of these in the composition of
the soul, viz. essence , sameness, and difference ; for the other two
must necessarily subsist in conjunction with these. But by a
nature impartible, or without parts, we must understand intel¬
lect, and by that nature which is divisible about body, corporeal
life. The mundane soul, therefore, is a medium between the
mundane intellect and the whole of that corporeal life which the
world participates. We must not, however, suppose that when
the soul is said to be mingled from these two, the impartible and

partible natures are consumed in the mixture, as is the case when
corporeal substances are mingled together; but we must under¬
stand that the soul is of a middle nature between these, so as to
be different from each, and yet a participant of each.

The first numbers of the soul are these: 1, 2, 3, 4, 9, 8, 27; but
the other numbers are,

3 6

108

162

But in order to understand these numbers mathematically, it
is necessary to know, in the first place, what is meant by arith-'
metical, geometrical, and harmonic proportion. Arithmetical
proportion, then, is when an equal excess is preserved in three
or more given numbers; geometrical, when numbers preserve
the same ratio; and harmonic, when the middle term is exceeded
by the greater, by the same part of the greater as the excess of
the middle term above the lesser exceeds the lesser. Hence, the
numbers 1, 2, 3, are in arithmetical proportion; 2, 4, 8, in geo¬
metrical, since as 2 is to 4, so is 4 to 8; and 6, 4, 3, are in harmonic
proportion, for 4 is exceeded by 6 by 2, which is a third part of
6, and 4 exceeds 3 by 1, which is the third part of 3. Again,
sesquialter proportion is when one number contains another
and the half of it besides, such as the proportion of 3 to 2;
but sesquitertian proportion takes place when a greater number
contains a lesser, and besides this, a third part of the lesser, as 4
to 3; and a sesquioctave ratio is when a greater number contains
a lesser one, and an eighth part of it besides, as 9 to 8; and this

proportion produces in music an entire tone, which is the prin¬
ciple of all symphony. But a tone contains five symphonies, viz.
the diatessaron , or sesquitertian proportion, which is composed
from two tones, and a semitone, which is a sound less than a tone;
the diapente, or sesquialter proportion, which is composed from
three tones and a semitone; the diapason , or duple proportion,
i. e. four to two, which is composed from six tones; the diapason
diapente , which consists of nine tones and a semitone; and the
disdiapason , or quadruple proportion, i. e. four to one, which
contains twelve tones.

But it is necessary to observe further concerning a tone, that
it cannot be divided into two equal parts; because it is composed
from a sesquioctave proportion, and 9 cannot be divided into
two equal parts. Hence, it can only be divided into two unequal
parts, which are usually called semitones; but by Plato Xet[i.fju*Ta,
or remainders . But the lesser part of a tone was called by the
Pythagoreans diesis , or division; and this is surpassed by a ses¬
quitertian proportion by two tones; and the remaining greater
part, by which the tone surpasses the less semitone, is called
apotome , or a cutting off.

But as it is requisite to explain the different kinds of harmony,
in order to a knowledge of the composition of symphonies, let
the reader take notice that harmony receives a triple division,
into the Diatonic, Enharmonic, and Chromatic. And the Dia¬
tonic genus takes place when its division continually proceeds
through a less semitone and two tones. But the Enharmonic
proceeds through two dieses. And the Chromatic is that which
ascends through two unequal semitones and three semitones; or
TptYjjJUTOvcov, according to the appellation of the ancient musi¬
cians. And to these three genera all musical instruments are re¬
duced, because they are all composed from these harmonies. But
though there were many different kinds of instruments among
the ancients, yet the Pythagorean and Platonic philosophers used
only three—the Monochord, the Tetrachord, and the Polychord;
to which three they refer the composition of all the other instru-

merits. From among all these, therefore, Plato assumes the dia¬
tonic harmony, as more agreeable to nature; in which the tetra-
chord proceeds through a less semitone and two tones; tending
by this means from a less to a greater semitone, as from a more
slender to a more powerful matter, which possesses a simple form,
and is at the same time both gentle and robust. And hence, as all
instruments are conversant with these three kinds of harmony,
Plato, says Proclus, in consequence of preferring the diatonic
harmony, alone uses two tones when he orders us to fill up the
sesquitertian, sesquioctave and semitone intervals.

With respect to the first numbers, which are evidently those
described by Plato, the first three of these, 1, 2, 3, as Syrianus
beautifully observes, may be considered as representing the soul
of the world, abiding in, proceeding from, and returning to,
herself, viz. abiding according to that first part, proceeding
through the second, and this without any passivity or imbecility,
but returning according to the third: for that which is perfective
accedes to beings through conversion. But as the whole of the
mundane soul is perfect, united with intelligibles, and eternally
abiding in intellect, hence she providentially presides over sec¬
ondary natures; in one respect indeed over those which are as it
were proximately connected with herself, and in another over
solid and compacted bulks. But her providence over each of
these is twofold. For those which are connected with her essence
in a following order, proceed from her according to the power
of the fourth term (4), which possesses generative powers; but
return to her according to the fifth (9), which reduces them to
one. Again, solid natures, and all the species which are discerned
in corporeal masses, proceed according to the octuple of the first
part (i. e. according to 8), which number is produced by two, is
solid, and possesses generative powers proceeding to all things;
but they return according to the number 27, which is the regres¬
sion of solids, proceeding as it were from the ternary, and exist¬
ing of the same order according to nature: for such are all odd
numbers.

And thus much for the first series of numbers, in which duple
and triple ratios are comprehended; but after this follows an¬
other series, in which the duple are filled with sesquitertian and
sesquialter ratios, and the sesquitertian spaces receive a tone. And
here, in the first place, in the duple progression between 6 and 12,
we may perceive two mediums, 8 and 9. And 8 indeed subsists
between 6 and 12 in an harmonic ratio; for it exceeds 6 by a third
part of 6, and it is in like manner exceeded by 12 by a third part
of ,12. Likewise 8 is in a sesquitertian ratio to 6, but 12 is ses¬
quialter to 8. Besides, the difference between 12 and 8 is 4, but
the difference between 8 and 6 is 2. And hence, 4 to 2, as well as
12 to 6, contains a duple ratio: and these are the ratios in which
the artifice of harmony is continually employed. We may like¬
wise compare 9 to 6 which is sesquialter, 12 to 9 which is ses¬
quitertian, and 9 to 8 which is sesquioctave, and forms a tone;
and from this comparison we shall perceive that two sesquitertian
ratios are bound together by this sesquioctave, viz. 8 to 6 and 9
to 12. Nor is an arithmetical medium wanting in these numbers;
for 9 exceeds 6 by 3, and is by the same number exceeded by 12.
And in the same manner we may proceed in all the following
duple ratios, binding the duple by the sesquitertian and ses¬
quialter, and connecting the two sesquitertians by a sesquioctave
ratio. We may run through the triple proportions too in a simi¬
lar manner, excepting in the tone. But because sesquitertian
ratios are not alone produced from two tones, but from a semi¬
tone, and this a lesser, which is deficient from a full tone by cer¬
tain small parts, hence Plato says, that in the sesquitertian ratios
a certain small portion remains. 1 And thus much may suffice for
an epitome of the mode in which the duple and triple intervals
are filled.

But the words of Plato respecting these intervals plainly show,
as Proclus well observes, that he follows in this instance the doc-

1 The proportion of 256 to 243 produces what is called in music Xeijin-a,
limma, or that which remains.

trine of the ancient theologists. For they assert, that in the artif¬
icer of the universe there are separating and connecting powers,
and that through the former he separates his government from
that of his father Saturn, but through the latter applies the whole
of his fabrication to his paternal unity; and they call these opera¬
tions incisions and bonds. Hence the demiurgus, dividing the
essence of the soul, according to these powers in demiurgic
bounds, is said to cut the parts from their totality, and again to
bind the same with certain bonds, which are [A£cjoty)T£<;, middles
or mediums , and through which he connects that which is
divided, in the same manner as he divides, through sections, that
which is united. And as the first numbers, 1, 2, 3, 4, 9, 8, 27,
represented those powers of the soul by which she abides in, pro¬
ceeds from, and returns to, herself, and causes the progression
and conversion of the parts of the universe—so, in these second
numbers, the sesquitertian, sesquialter, and other ratios consti¬
tute the more particular ornament of the world; and, while they
subsist as wholes themselves, adorn the parts of its parts.

I only add, that we must not suppose these numbers of the
soul to be a multitude of unities; but we must conceive them to
be vital self-motive natures, which are indeed the images of in¬
tellectual numbers, but the exemplars of such as are apparent
to the eye of sense. In like manner, with respect to harmony,
soul is neither harmony itself, nor that which subsists in harmo¬
nized natures. For harmony itself is uniform, separate, and ex¬
empt from the whole of things harmonized; but that which sub¬
sists in things harmonized is dependent on others, by which also
it is naturally moved. But the harmony of the soul subsists in
the middle of these two, imparting harmony to others, and being
the first participant of it herself.

In order to understand the figure of the soul, in the first place,
mathematically, conceive all the above-mentioned numbers to
be described in a certain straight rule, according to the whole of
its breadth; and conceive this rule to be afterwards divided ac¬
cording to its length. Then all these ratios will subsist in each

part of the section. For, if the division were made according to
breadth, it would be necessary that some of the numbers should
be separated on this side, and others on that. Afterwards let the
two lengths of the rule be mutually applied to each other, viz. in
the points which divide these lengths in half: but let them not be
so applied as to form right angles, for the intended circles are not
of this kind. Again, let the two lengths be so incurvated, that the
extremes may touch each other; then two circles will be pro¬
duced, one interior and the other exterior, and they xvill be
mutually oblique to each odier. But one of these will be the
circle of sameness, and the other of difference; and the one will
subsist according to the equinoctial circle, but the other accord¬
ing to the zodiac: for every circle of difference is rolled about
this, as of identity about the equinoctial. Hence, these rectilinear
sections ought not to be applied at right angles, but according to
the similitude of the letter X, agreeably to the mind of Plato, so
that the angles in the summit only may be equal; for neither does
the zodiac cut the equinoctial at right angles. And thus much
for the mathematical explanation of the figure of the soul.

But again, says Proclus, referring the whole of our discourse
to the essence of the soul, we shall say that, according to the
mathematical disciplines, continuous and discrete quantity seem
in a certain respect to be contrary to each other; but in soul both
concur together, i. e. union and division. For soul is both unity
and multitude, and one reason and many; and so far as she is a
whole she is continuous, but so far as number she is divided,
according to the reasons which she contains. Hence, according
to her continuity, she is assimilated to the union of intelligibles;
but, according to her multitude, to their distinction. And if you
are willing to ascend still higher in speculations, soul, according
to her union, possesses a vestige and resemblance of the one, but
according to her division she exhibits the multitude of divine
numbers. Hence we must not say that she alone possesses an
arithmetical essence, for she would not be continuous; nor alone
a geometrical essence, for she would not be divided: she is there-

fore both at once, and must be called both arithmetical and geo¬
metrical. But so far as she is arithmetical, she has at the same
time harmony conjoined with her essence; for the multitude
which she contains is elegant and composite, and receives in the
same and at once both that which is essential quantity and that
which is related. But so far as she is geometrical, she has that
which is spherical connected with her essence. For the circles
which she contains are both immovable and moved; immovable
indeed according to essence, but moved according to a vital
energy; or, to speak more properly, they may be said to possess
both of these at once, for they are self-motive: and that which is
self-motive is both moved and is at the same time immovable,
since a motive power seems to belong to an immovable nature.
Soul, therefore, essentially pre-assumes all disciplines; the geo¬
metrical, according to her totality, her forms, and her lines; the
arithmetical, according to her multitude and essential unities;
the harmonical, according to the ratios of numbers; and the
spherical, according to her double circulations. And, in short,
she is the essential, self-motive, intellectual, and united bond of
all disciplines, purely comprehending all things; figures in an un¬
figured manner; unitedly such things as are divided; and with¬
out distance such as are distant from each other.

We are likewise informed by Proclus, that, according to
Porphyry, a character like the letter X comprehended in a circle
was a symbol with the Egyptians of the mundane soul; by the
right lines, perhaps (says he), signifying its biformed progres¬
sion, but by the circle its uniform life and intellective progress,
which is of a circular nature. But of these circles the exterior,
or the circle of sameness, represents the dianoetic power of the
soul; but the interior, or the circle of difference, the power which
energizes according to opinion: and the motion which is per¬
petually revolved in sameness, and which comprehends the soul,
is intellect.

Again, we have before observed that, according to the Platonic
philosophy, the planets revolve with a kind of spiral motion;

while variously wandering under the oblique zodiac, they at one
time verge to the south, and at another to the north, sometimes
advance, and sometimes retreat, and being at one time more
distant from and at another nearer to the earth. And this mo¬
tion, indeed, very properly belongs to them, from their middle
position, as it is a medium between the right-lined motion of
the elements and the circular motion of the inerratic sphere: for
a spiral is mixed from the right line and circle. Add too, that
there are seven motions in the heavens; the circular, before,
behind, upwards, downwards, to the right hand, and to the left.
But the spheres alone possess a circular motion. And the stars
in the inerratic sphere revolve about their centres; but at the
same time have an advancing motion, because they are drawn
along towards the west by the sphere in which they are fixed.
But they are entirely destitute of the other five motions. On the
contrary, the planets have all the seven. For they revolve about
their own centres, but are carried by the motions of their spheres
towards the ,east. And besides this, they are carried upwards and
downwards, behind and before, to the right hand and to the left.
Every star, too, by its revolution about its own centre, imitates
the energy of the soul which it contains about its own intellect;
but by following the motion of its sphere, it imitates the energy
of the sphere about a superior intellect. We may likewise add,
that the uniformity in the motions of the fixed stars confers
union and perseverance on inferior concerns; but that the mani¬
fold and opposite motions of the planets contribute to the pro¬
duction, mingling and governing of things various and opposite.

And here, as the reader will doubtless be desirous of knowing
why earth is called by Plato the first and most ancient of the
Gods within the heavens, I doubt not but he will gratefully
receive the following epitome of the beautiful account given by
Proclus of the earth in his inestimable commentaries on this
venerable dialogue.—“Earth (says he) first proceeds from the
intelligible earth which comprehends all the intelligible orders
of the Gods, and from the intellectual earth which is coordinated

with heaven. For our earth, being analogous to these, eternally
abides, as in the centre of heaven; by which being every way com¬
prehended, it becomes full of generative power and demiurgic
perfection. The true earth, therefore, is not this corporeal and
gross bulk, but an animal endued with a divine soul and a divine
body. For it contains an immaterial and separate intellect, and
a divine soul energizing about this intellect, and an ethereal body
proximately depending on this soul; and, lastly, this visible bulk,
which is on all sides animated and filled with life from its in¬
spiring soul, and through which it generates and nourishes lives
of all-various kinds. For one species of life is rooted in the earth,
and another moves about its surface. For how is it possible that
plants should live while abiding in the earth, but when sepa¬
rated from it die, unless its visible bulk was full of life? Indeed
it must universally follow that wholes must be animated prior
to parts: for it would be ridiculous that man should participate
of a rational soul and of intellect, but that earth and air should
be deprived of a soul, sublimely carried in these elements as in
a chariot, governing them from on high, and preserving them
in the limits accommodated to their nature. For, as Theo¬
phrastus well observes, wholes would possess less authority than
parts, and things eternal than such as are corruptible, if deprived
of the possession of soul. Hence there must necessarily be a soul
and intellect in the earth, the former causing her to be prolific,
and the latter connectedly containing her in the middle of the
universe. So that earth is a divine animal, full of intellectual
and animastic essences, and of immaterial powers. For if a par¬
tial soul, such as ours, in conjunction with its proper ethereal
vehicle, is able to exercise an exuberant energy in a material
body, what ought we to think of a soul so divine as that of the
earth? Ought we not to assert, that by a much greater priority
she uses these apparent bodies through other middle vehicles,
and through these enables them to receive her divine illumi¬
nations?

“Earth then subsisting in this manner, she is said, in the first

place, to be our nurse, as possessing, in a certain respect, a power
equivalent to heaven; and because, as heaven comprehends
divine animals, so earth appears to contain such as are earthly.
And, in the second place, as inspiring our life from her own
proper life. For she not only yields us fruits, and nourishes our
bodies through these, but she fills our souls with illuminations
from her own divine soul, and through her intellect awakens
ours from its oblivious sleep. And thus, through the whole of
herself, she becomes the nurse of our whole composition.

“But we may consider the poles as powers which give stability
to the universe, and excite the whole of its bulk to intelligible
love; which connect a divisible nature indivisibly, and that which
possesses interval in an united and indistant manner. But the
axis is one divinity congregating the centres of the universe, con¬
necting the whole world, and moving its divine circulations;
about which the revolutions of the stars subsist, and which sus¬
tains the whole of the heavens by its power. And hence it is called
Atlas, from the immutable and unwearied energy with which it
is endued. Add too that the word Texqjievov, extended , signifies
that this one power is Titanic, guarding the circulations of the
wholes which the universe contains.

“Earth is likewise called the guardian and faoricator of night
and day. And that she causes the night indeed is evident; for
her magnitude and figure give that great extent to the conical
shadow which she produces. But she is the fabricator of the day,
considered as giving perfection to the day which is conjoined
with night; so that earth is the artificer of both these in conjunc¬
tion with the sun.

“But she is the most ancient and first of the Gods in the
heavens, considered with respect to her stability and generative
power, her symphony with heaven, and her position in the centre
of the universe. For the centre possesses a mighty power in the
universe, as connecting all its circulations; and hence it was
called by the Pythagoreans the tower of Jupiter, from its contain¬
ing a demiurgic guard. And if we recollect the Platonic hypoth-

esis concerning the earth (which we have mentioned before),
that our habitable part is^nothing but a dark hollow, and very
different from the true earth, which is adorned with a beauty
similar to that of the heavens, we shall have no occasion to won¬
der at her being called the first and most ancient of the celestial
Gods.”

Again, according to the Platonic philosophy, some of the fixed
stars are sometimes so affected, that for a considerable space of
time they become invisible to us; and in this case, both when
they withdraw themselves from our view, and when they again
make their appearance, they are said by such as are skilled in
these affairs, according to the information of Proclus, 1 both to
produce and signify mighty events. But though it is evident
from the very words of Plato, in this part of the dialogue, that
this opinion concerning certain stars disappearing and becom¬
ing again visible was entertained by all the astronomers of his
time, and by the Pythagoreans prior to him, yet this most in¬
teresting circumstance seems to have been utterly unknown to
the moderns. Hence, not in the least suspecting this to be the
case, they have immediately concluded from stars appearing of
which we have no account, and others disappearing which have
been observed in the heavens for many ages, that the stars are
bodies, like earthly natures, subject to generation and decay.
But this is not wonderful, if we consider that such men as these
have not the smallest conception that the universe is a perfect
whole; that every thing perfect must have a first, middle, and
last; and that, in consequence of this, the heavens alone can rank
in the first place, and earth in the last.

As the universe, indeed, as well as each of its principal parts
or wholes , is perpetual , and as this perpetuity being temporal
can only subsist by periodical circulation, hence all the celestial
bodies, in order that all the possible variety of things may be

1 In Tim. And he informs us, that the fixed stars have periods of revolu¬
tion, though to us unknown, and that different stars have different periods.
See also Chalcidius in Plat. Tim.

unfolded, form different periods at different times; and their
appearings and disappearings are nothing more than the restitu¬
tions of their circulations to their pristine state, and the begin¬
nings of new periods. For according to these especially, says
Proclus, they turn and transmute mundane natures, and bring
on abundant corruptions and mighty mutations, as Plato asserts
in the Republic.

In the next place, from the sublime speech of the demiurgus to
the junior or mundane Gods, the reader may obtain full convic¬
tion that the Gods of the ancients were not dead men deified; for
they are here represented as commanded by the mundane artif¬
icer to fabricate the whole of the mortal race. And with respect
to the properties of the sublunary Gods, which Plato compre¬
hends in nine divinities, Proclus beautifully observes that
Heaven bounds, Earth corroborates, and Ocean moves, the whole
of generation. That Tethys establishes every thing in its proper
motion, intellectual natures in intellectual, middle natures in
animal, and corporeal natures in physical motion; Ocean at the
same time moving all things collected together in one. But
Saturn distributes intellectually only, Rhea vivifies, Phorcys
scatters spermatic reasons, Jupiter gives perfection to things ap¬
parent from unapparent causes, and Juno evolves according to
the all-various mutations of apparent natures. And thus through
this ennead the sublunary world is in a becoming manner dis¬
tributed and filled; divinely indeed from the Gods, angelically
from angels, and demoniacally from demons. And again, the
Gods subsisting about bodies, souls, and intellects; angels ex¬
hibiting their providence about souls and bodies; and demons
being divided about the fabrication of nature, and the care of
bodies. But it may be asked, why does Plato comprehend the
whole extent of the Gods producing generation, in these nine
divinities? Because, says Proclus, this ennead accomplishes the
fabrication of generation. For in the sublunary regions there
are bodies and natures, souls and intellects, and these both totally
and partially. And all these subsist in both respects, that is both

totally and partially, in each of the elements, because wholes and
parts subsist together. Hence, as each element ranks as a monad,
and contains bodies and natures, souls and intellects, both totally
and partially, an ennead will evidently be produced in each.
But Heaven and Earth generate the unapparent essences of these,
the former according to union, and the latter according to multi¬
plication: but Ocean and Tethys give perfection to their com¬
mon and distributed motion; at the same time that the motion
of each is different. In like manner, with respect to the wholes
which are adorned, Saturn distributes things partial from such
as are total, but in an intellectual manner. But Rhea calls forth
this distribution from intellectual natures into all-various pro¬
gressions, and as far as to the ultimate forms of life, in conse¬
quence of her being a vivific Goddess. But Phorcys produces the
Titanic distinction, as far as to natural reasons. And after these
three, the fathers of composite natures succeed. And Jupiter
indeed orderly disposes sensible natures totally, in imitation of
Heaven . For in the intellectual order, and in the royal series, he
proceeds analogous to Heaven . 1 But Juno moves the wholes,
fills them with powers, and unfolds them according to every
progression. And the Gods posterior to these fabricate the par¬
tial works of sensible natures, according to the characteristics by
which they are distinguished; viz. the demiurgic, the vivific, the
perfective, and the connective, unfolding and distributing them¬
selves as far as to the last of things. For these last are all of them
analogous to the Saturnian order, from whose government the
distributive characteristic originally proceeds.

Again, by the Crater in which the mundane soul was mingled,
we must understand the vivific Goddess Juno; by the term
mingling , a communion of essence; and by a second mixture in a
certain respect the same, but yet deficient from the first in a sec¬
ond and third degree, the similitude and at the same time in-

1 For there are six kings, according to Orpheus, who preside over the
universe—Phanes, Night, Heaven, Saturn, Jupiter, Bacchus; and of these
Saturn proceeds analogous to Phanes, and Jupiter to Heaven.

feriority of partial to total souls, and the order subsisting among
partial souls. For some of these are pure and undefiled, associat¬
ing with generation but for a short time, and this for the God¬
like purpose of benefiting more ingenious souls; but others
wander from their true country for very extended periods of
time. For between souls which abide on high without defilement,
and such as descend and are defiled with vice, the medium must
be such souls as descend, indeed, but without defilement.

But when the artificer of the universe is said to have distrib¬
uted souls equal in number to the stars, this must not be under¬
stood as if one partial soul was distributed under one of the
stars, and that the quantity of souls is equal to that of the starry
Gods; for this would be perfectly inconsistent with what Plato
asserts a little before, that the artificer disseminated some of these
into the earth, some into the sun and some into the moon, thus
scattering a multitude into each of the instruments of time. But,
as Prod us well observes, equality of number here must not be
understood monadically, but according to analogy. For in num¬
bers, says he, ten is analogous to unity, thirty to three, fifty to
five, and entirely all the numbers posterior to the decad, to all
within the decad. And hence five is not equal to fifty in quan¬
tity, nor three to thirty, but they are only equal according to
analogy. After this manner, therefore, the equal in number must
be assumed in partial souls; since there is a number of these ac¬
commodated to every divine soul, and which each divine soul
uniformly pre-assumes in itself. And hence, when it unfolds this
number, it bounds the multitude of partial souls distributed
under its essence. Likewise, with respect to these depending
souls, such as are first suspended from a divine soul are less in
number, but greater in power; but such as are second in pro¬
gression are less in power, but more extended in number; while
at the same time each is analogous to the divine cause from which
it proceeds.

Observe, too, that when Plato uses the term the most pious of
animals, man alone is not implied, but the inhabitants likewise

or partial souls of the several spheres and stars: for, says Proclus,
between eternal animals , 1 and such as live but for a short
period 2 , (viz. whose periods of circulation are short) it is neces¬
sary there should be a species of rational animals more divine
than man, and whose existence is of a very extended duration.
It is likewise worthy of observation, that the soul is conjoined
with this gross body through two vehicles as mediums, one of
which is ethereal and the other aerial: and of these the ethereal
vehicle is simple and immaterial , but the aerial simple and ma¬
terial; and this dense earthly body is composite and material .

Again, when our souls are represented after falling into the
present body as suffering a transmutation into brutes, this, as
Proclus beautifully observes, must not be understood as if our
souls ever became the animating principles of brutal bodies, but
that by a certain sympathy they are bound to the souls of brutes,
and are as it were carried in them, just as evil daemons insinuate
themselves into our phantasy, through their own depraved im¬
aginations. And by the circulations of the soul being merged in
a profound river and impetuously borne along, we must under¬
stand by the river, not the human body alone, but the whole of
generation (with which we are externally surrounded) through
its swift and unstable flowing. For thus, says Proclus, Plato in
the Republic calls the whole of generated nature the river of
Lethe, which contains both Lethe and the meadow of Ate, ac¬
cording to Empedocles 3 ; the devouring jaws of matter and the
light-hating world, as it is called by the Gods; and the winding
rivers under which many are drawn down, as the oracles 4 assert.
But by the circulations of the soul the dianoetic and doxastic

1 i. e. stars and spheres.

2 i. e. men.

3 Ev fj xai f) Arifhi, xai 6 xr]g Axrig Xa^cov, <I)g qpriaiv EnjteSoxXrig, xai to
XaC>(?ov mis uXtis, xai 6 ^uaotpavrig xoajiog, wg oi fteoi Xeyouai, xai xa oxoXia
QEiOga, iKp’ djv oi JtoXXoi xaxamjQovrai, cog xa Xoyia (priaiv. Procl. in Tim.
See more concerning this in my Dissertation on the Eleusinian and Bacchic
Mysteries.

4 Viz. the oracles of Zoroaster.

powers are signified; die former of which, dirough the soul’s
conjunction with the body, is impeded in its energies, and the
latter is Titanically torn in pieces under the irrational life.

Again, if we consider man with reference to a contemplative
life, which is the true end of his formation, we shall find that the
head, which is the instrument of contemplation, is the principal
member, and that the other members were only added as minis-
trant to the head. With respect to sight, it must be observed that
Democritus, Heraclitus, the Stoics, many of the Peripatetics and
ancient geometricians, together with the Platonists, were of opin¬
ion that vision subsists through a lucid spirit emitted from the
eyes: and this spirit, according to Plato and his followers, is an
unburning vivific fire similar to celestial fire, from which it origi¬
nally proceeds. But this fire, the illuminations of which, as we
have already observed, give life to our mortal part, is abundantly
collected in the eye as in a fat diaphanous substance, whose mois¬
ture is most shining and whose membranes are tender and trans¬
parent, but yet sufficiently firm for the purpose of preserving the
inherent light. But a most serene ray shines through the more
solid pupil; and this ray originates internally from one nerve,
but is afterwards derived through two small nerves to the two
eyes. And these nerves, through the fat humours of the eyes,
winding under the tunics, arrive at length at the pupils. But a
light of this kind, thus preserved in the small nerves, and burst¬
ing through the narrow pupils as soon as it shines forth into dis¬
persed rays, as it commenced from one ray, so it immediately
returns into one, from the rays naturally uniting in one common
ray: for the eyes also, on account of their lubricity, roundness,
and smooth substance, are easily moved hither and thither, with
an equal and similar revolution. This visual ray, however, can¬
not proceed externally and perceive objects at a distance, unless
it is conjoined with external light proceeding conically to the
eyes; and hence our ray insinuating itself into this light, and
becoming strengthened by the association, continues its progres¬
sion till it meets with some opposing object. But when this is

the case, it either diffuses itself through the superficies of the
object, or runs through it with wonderful celerity, and becomes
immediately affected with the quality of the object. And a re¬
sistance, motion, and affection of this kind produces vision, viz.
from the vibration of the ray thus affected gradually arriving at
the instrument of sight, and by this means exciting that image of
the object which is naturally inherent in the instrument, and
through which when excited perception ensues. For there are
three particulars which belong in general to all the senses; first,
an image or mark of the sensible thing impressed in the sensitive
instrument; and this constituted both in passion and energy in a
certain similitude to the sensible object: but afterwards we must
consider an impression of this kind as now perfect, and ending
in species, viz. in the common composite life: and, in the third
place, that inherent reason of the soul ensues, which germinates
from the sensitive soul, is accommodated to species of this kind,
and is that through which sensitive judgment and cogitation
subsist.

But further, the Platonists admit, with Democritus and Em¬
pedocles, that certain material images of things flow through the
pores of bodies, and preserve, to a certain distance, not only the
qualities but likewise the shape of the bodies from which they
flow. And these radial images are intimated by Plato in this
dialogue, in the Sophista, and in the seventh book of his Re¬
public; in commenting on the last of which, Proclus observes as
follows: “According to Plato, (says he) representations of things
are hypostases of certain images fabricated by a demoniacal art,
as he teaches us in the Sophista; for shadows, of which they say
images are the companions, possess a nature of this kind. For
these are the effigies of bodies and figures, and have an abundant
sympathy with the things from which they fall; as is evident from
what the arts of magicians are able to effect, and from what they
tell us concerning images and shadows. But why should I speak
□f the powers of magicians, when irrational animals are able to
aperate through images and shadows, prior to all reason? for

they say that the hyaena, by trampling on the shadow of a dog
seated on an eminence, will hurl him down and devour him; and
Aristotle says, that if a woman, during her menstrua, looks into a
mirror, she will defile both the mirror and the apparent image.
—'Otc xaxa U Xaxwva at eji^aasiq itfO&Taareiq ewtv eiBcdXuv tivcdv
Baipiovca [J.r^av’Q Br i [j.ioi)p*fO , J|/.Evai, y.a0a7:£p auxoq ev tco ac^iaTY} Btoaay.Et.
Kat yap at <nctat atq Ta ecBo>Xa ctj^uy&iv yr\ai T 0 ia'jTr ( v ex 0U7t
Kat Y a P auxat aco^aTCOV eiot y.ac ayr,[j. 2 Tcov Ety.ov£q ? */.at , jra[j.7;oX’j\
fi^ouat 77pc<; Ta a9 ? <!)v EfXTUTTTGuat au[X7:aO£tav, wq BY]Xo’jTt xat oaa (xa^WN
(lege ixa^wv) TE^vat ^poq ts Ta EtBwXa Bpav ‘/.at £zaYY £ ^ 0VTat
Taq (T>uaq. Kat Tt Xsyu Taq exsivcov Buva;j.siq a y.at ToCq aXc^oiq
t;cootq UTuapxrj rcpo Xoyou rcavxoq svspYsiv. 'H ?ap uatva 9 acrtv t r,v toi
y.uvoq £V o<J>st y-aOr^fivou ^aT^aaaa ay.tav y.aTaSaXXst, /.at Ooivyjv -rotrja
tov yjva. Kat Yuvaty.oq 7.a0atpou[j.svY;q 9 Y]atv AptaxOTfiX^q, £tq svoxTpO'
tBoua^q, atptaTcmai, to t£ svorcTpov, xai to q1.9atv0iJ.Ev0v eiBcoXov. 1 -
And he likewise informs us in the same place, that these images
on account of their slender existence, cannot otherwise become
visible to our eyes, than when, in consequence of being estab
lished, restored, and illuminated in mirrors, they again receive
their pristine power and the shape of their originals. Hence, say
he, density is required in the body which receives them, that the
image may not be dissipated from the rarity of the receptacle
and that from many defluxions it may pass into one form. Bu
smoothness likewise is required, lest the asperity of the recep
tacle, on account of the prominency of some of its parts and th«
depth of others, should be the cause of inequality to the image
And, lastly, splendour is required; that the image, whicl
naturally possesses a slender form, may become apparent to th
sight.

In the next place, with respect to matter, and the variou
epithets by which Plato calls it in this dialogue, it is necessary t
observe, that as in an ascending series of subjects we must arriv
at length at something which is better than all things, so in

1 Vid. Prod, in Plat. Polit.

lescending series our progression must be stopped by something
diich is worse than all things, and which is the general receptacle
>f the last procession of forms. And this is what the ancients
ailed matter, and which they considered as nothing more than
certain indefiniteness of an incorporeal, indivisible, and in-
ellectual nature, and as something which is not formally im-
>ressed and bounded by three dimensions, but is entirely re-
uitted and resolved, and is on all sides rapidly flowing from
>eing into non-entity. But this opinion concerning matter, says
implicius *, seems to have been adopted by the first Pythagoreans
mong the Greeks; and after these by Plato, according to the
elation of Moderatus. For he shows us—“that, according to the
Pythagoreans, there is a first one subsisting prior to the essence
f things and every substance; that after this, true being and
ntelligible or forms subsist: and, in the third place, that which
>ertains to soul, and which participates of the one and of in-
ellectual forms. But after this (says he) the last nature, which
» that of sensibles, subsists; which does not participate of the
receding natures, but is thus affected and formed according to
he representation of these; since the matter of sensible natures
> the shadow of that non-being which primarily subsists in
uantity, or rather may be said to depend upon, and be produced
y, this.” Hence Porphyry, in his second book on Matter, says
implicius, observes that Plato calls matter, quantity, which is
Drmless, indivisible, and without figure; but capacious, and
le receptacle of form, figure, division, quality, and other things
f a similar kind. And this quantity and form, considered ac-
arding to the privation of a uniform reason, which comprehends
11 the reasons of beings in itself, is the paradigm of the matter
f bodies; which, says Porphyry, both Plato and the Pythagoreans
ill a quantum, not after the same manner as form is a quantum,
ut according to privation and analysis, extension and divulsion,
nd its mutation from being. Matter, therefore, according to this

1 In Aristot. Phys.

s 7

doctrine, as Simplicius well observes, is nothing else than the
permutation and vicissitude of sensible forms, with respect to
intelligibles; since from thence they verge downwards, and ex¬
tend to perfect non-entity, or the last of things—that is, to matter
itself. Hence, says he, because dregs and matter are always the
last of things, the Egyptians assert that matter, which they enig¬
matically denominate water, is the dregs of the first life; sub¬
sisting as a certain mire or mud, the receptacle of generable and
sensible natures; and which is not any definite form, but a cer¬
tain constitution of subsistence, in the same manner as that
which is indivisible, immaterial and true being, is a constitution
of an intelligible nature. And though all forms subsist both in
intelligibles and in matter, yet in the former they subsist with¬
out matter, indivisibly and truly; but in the latter divisibly, and
after the manner of shadows. And on this account every sensible
form is dissipated through its union with material interval, and
falls from the stability and reality of being.

But the following profound and admirable description of
matter by Plotinus (Ennead. 3, lib. 6) will, I doubt not, be grate¬
fully received by the Platonic reader.—“Since matter (says he'
is neither soul, nor intellect, nor life, nor form, nor reason, noi
bound, but a certain indefiniteness; nor yet capacity, for whal
can it produce? since it is foreign from all these, it cannot merit
the appellation of being; but is deservedly called non entity
Nor yet is it non-entity in the same manner as motion and per
manency are non-beings, considered as different from being: but
it is true non-entity; the mere shadow and imagination of bulk
and the desire of subsistence; remaining fixed without abiding, o
itself invisible, and avoiding the desire of him who is anxiou:
to perceive its nature. Hence, when no one perceives it, it is ther
in a manner present; but cannot be viewed by him who strive;
intently to behold it. Again, in itself contraries always appear
the small and the great, the less and the more, deficience am
excess. So that it is a phantom, neither abiding nor yet able tc
fly away; capable of no one denomination, and possessing nt

xnver from intellect; but is constituted in the defect and shade,
is it were, of all real being. Hence, too, in each of its vanishing
ippellations, it eludes our search: for, if we think of it as some-
hing great, it is in the mean time small; if as something more,
t becomes less; and the apparent being which we meet with in
ts image is non-being, and, as it were, a flying mockery. So that
he forms which appear in matter are merely ludicrous; shadows
ailing upon shadow, as in a mirror, where the position of the
ipparent is different from that of the real object; and which,
hough apparently full of forms, possesses nothing real and true.
3 ut the things which enter into, and depart from, matter, are
lothing but imitations of being, and semblances flowing about
l formless semblance. They seem, indeed, to effect something in
he subject matter, but in reality produce nothing; from their
lebile and flowing nature being endued with no solidity and no
abounding power. And since matter likewise has no solidity,
hey penetrate it without division, like images in water, or as if
my one should fill a vacuum with forms.”

Such, then, being the true condition of matter and her in-
terent shadowy forms, we may safely conclude that whatever
>ecomes corporeal in an eminent degree has but little power of
ecalling itself into one; and that a nature of this kind is ready
>y every trifling impulse to remain as it is impelled; to rush from
he embraces of bound, and hasten into multitude and non-
ntity. Hence, as Plotinus beautifully observes, (Ennead. 3, lib.
',)—“those who only place bewg in the genus of body, in consc¬
ience of impulses and concussions, and the phantasms per-
eived through the senses, which persuade them that sense is
lone the standard of truth, are affected like those in a dream,
dio imagine that the perceptions of sleep are true. For sense is
lone the employment of the dormant soul; since as much of the
oul as is merged in body, so much of it sleeps. But true eleva-
ion and true vigilance are a resurrection from, and not with, the
lull mass of body. For, indeed, a resurrection with body is only
transmigration from sleep to sleep, and from dream to dream,

like a man passing in the dark from bed to bed. But that elevs
tion is perfectly true which entirely rises from the dead weight c
bodies; for these, possessing a nature repugnant to soul, posses
something opposite to essence. And this is further evident fror
their generation, their continual flowing and decay; propertie
entirely foreign from the nature of being, substantial and real.

Lastly, when Plato composes the elements from mathematics
planes, it is necessary to observe that, as these are physical plane:
they must not only have length and breadth, but likewise deptl
that they may be able to subsist as principles in natural effects.-
“For the Pythagoreans (says Simplicius*) considered ever
physical body as a figured quantity, and as in itself matter, bu
fashioned with different figures. That, besides this, it diffei
from a mathematical body in being material and tangible, r<
ceiving its tangibility from its bulk, and not either from heat c
cold. Hence, from the subject matter being impressed wit
different figures, they assert that the four elements of the el
ments subsist. For these elements rank more in the nature c
principles, as for instance, the cubic of earth; not that earth hi
wholly a cubic figure, but that each of the parts of earth is con
posed from many cubes, which through their smallness are ii
visible to our sight; and in the same manner the other elemen
from other primary figures. They add too, that from this diffe
ence of figures all the other properties of the elements ensue, an
their mutations into each other. For, if it is inquired why muc
air is produced from a little water, they can very readily assig
the cause by saying, that the elements of water are many, an
that, the icosaedrons of water being divided, many octacdron
and consequently a great quantity of air, will be produced.”

Simplicius likewise informs us, that the more ancient of Plate
interpreters, among which the divine Jamblichus ranks, co:
sidered Plato as speaking symbolically in this part concerning tl
figures of the elements; but the latter Platonic philosophei

1 De Ccelo, lib. iv.

mong whom Proclus, in my opinion, ranks as the most eminent,
xplained this part according to its literal meaning. And Sim-
licius, in the same book, has fortunately preserved the argu-
lents of Proclus in defence of Plato’s doctrine respecting these
lanes, against the objections of Aristotle.

Should it be asked in what this doctrine concerning planes
iffers from the dogma of Democritus, who asserted that natural
odies were fashioned according to figures, we may answer with
implicius 1 , that Plato and the Pythagoreans by a plane denoted
miething more simple than a body 2 , atoms being evidently
odies; that they assigned commensuration and a demiurgic
lalogy 3 to their figures, which Democritus did not to his atoms;
id that they differed from him in their arrangement of earth.
And thus much may suffice at present for an epitome of some
f the principal parts of this most interesting dialogue. For, as it
my design at some future period to publish as complete a com-
lentary as I am able from the inestimable commentaries of
rodus on this dialogue, with additional observations of my own,
more copious introduction might at present be considered as
iperfluous. The difficulty, indeed, of proceeding any further,
light alone very well apologise for the want of completion in
lis compendium. For the commentary of Proclus, though con¬
st 11 ^ of five books, is imperfect 4 , and does not even extend so
r as to the doctrine of vision, which in the present introduction
have endeavoured to explain. I trust, therefore, that the candid

1 De Ccelo.

2 Viz. than any visible sublunary body.

3 i. e. active and fabricative powers.

4 It is a circumstance remarkably unfortunate, as I have before observed,
at not one of the invaluable commentaries of this philosopher has been
eserved entire. For that he wrote a complete commentary on this dia-
^ue, is evident from a citation of Olympiodorus on Aristotle’s Meteors
Dm it, which is not to be found in any of the books now extant. In like
anner, his treatise on Plato’s theology is imperfect, wanting a seventh
►ok; his commentaries on the Parmenides want many books; his scholia on
e Cratylus are far from being complete; and this is likewise the case with
s commentary on the First Alcibiade.f.

and liberal reader will gratefully accept these fruits of my appli
cation to the Platonic philosophy; and as this introduction anc
the following translation were the result of no moderate labou -
and perseverance, I earnestly hope they may be the means o
awakening some few at least from the sleep of oblivion, of recall
ing their attention from fluctuating and delusive objects t(
permanent and real being; and thus may at length lead then
back to their paternal port, as the only retreat which can confe
perfect security and rest.

THE TIMiEUS

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE

SOCRATES CRITIAS

TIMyEUS HERMOCRATES

Soc.

I SEE one, two, three, but where, friend Timaeus, is that fourth
person, who being received by me yesterday at a banquet of dispu¬
tation, ought now in his turn to repay me with a similar repast?

Tim. He labours, Socrates, under a certain infirmity; for he
would not willingly be absent from such an association as the
present.

Soc. It remains therefore for you, O Timaeus, and the com¬
pany present, to fill up the part of this absent guest.

Tim. Entirely so, Socrates. And we shall endeavour, to the
utmost of our ability, to leave nothing belonging to such an em¬
ployment unaccomplished. For it would be by no means just that
we, who were yesterday entertained by you, in such a manner as
guests ought to be received, should not return the hospitality
with readiness and delight.

Soc. Do you recollect the magnitude and nature of things
which I proposed to you to explain?

Tim. Some things, indeed, I recollect; but such as I have for¬
gotten do you recall into my memory. Or rather, if it be not too
much trouble, run over the whole in a cursory manner from the
beginning, that it may be more firmly established in our memory.

Soc. Let it be so. And to begin: The sum of yesterday’s dis¬
pute was, what kind of republic appeared to me to be the best,

and from what sort of men such a republic ought to be composed.

Tim. And by us indeed, Socrates, all that you said was ap¬
proved in the highest degree.

Soc. Did we not, in the first place, separate husbandmen and
other artificers from those whom we considered as the defenders
of the city?

Tim. Certainly.

Soc. And when we had assigned to every one that which was
accommodated to his nature, and had prescribed only one par¬
ticular employment to every particular art, we likewise assigned
to the military tribe one province only, I mean that of protect¬
ing the city; and this as well from the hostile incursions of in¬
ternal as of external enemies; but yet in such a manner as to ad¬
minister justice mildly to the subjects of their government, as
bei,ng naturally friends, and to behave with warlike fierceness
against their enemies in battle.

Tim. Entirely so.

Soc. For we asserted, I think, that the souls of the guardians
should be of such a nature, as at the same time to be both irascible
and philosophic in a remarkable degree; so that they might be
gentle to their friends, and bold and ferocious to their enemies.

Tim. You did so.

Soc. But what did we assert concerning their education? Was
it not that they should be instructed in gymnastic exercises, in
music, and other becoming disciplines?

Tim. Entirely so.

Soc. We likewise established, that those who were so educated
should neither consider gold, or silver, or any goods of a similar
kind, as their own private property; but that rather, after the
manner of adjutants, they should receive the wages of guardian¬
ship from those whom they defend and preserve; and that their
recompense should be no more than is sufficient to a moderate
subsistence. That, besides this, they should use their public sti¬
pend in common, and for the purpose of procuring a common
subsistence with each other; so that, neglecting every other con-

cem, they may employ their attention solely on virtue, and the
discharge of their peculiar employment.

Tim. These things also were related by you.

Soc. Of women too we asserted, that they should be educated
in such a manner, as to be aptly conformed similar to the natures
of men; with whom they should perform in common both the
duties of war, and whatever else belongs to the business of life.

Tim. This too was asserted by you.

Soc. But what did we establish concerning the procreation
of children? Though perhaps you easily remember this, on ac¬
count of its novelty. For we ordered that the marriages and
children should be common; as we were particularly careful that
no one might be able to distinguish his own children, but that
all might consider all as their kindred; that hence those of an
equal age might regard themselves as brothers and sisters; but
that the younger might reverence the elder as their parents and
grandfathers, and the elder might esteem the younger as their
children and grandsons.

Tim. These things, indeed, as you say, are easily remembered.

Soc. But that they might from their birth acquire a disposi¬
tion as far as possible the best, we decreed that the rulers whom
we placed over the marriage rites should, through the means of
certain lots, take care that in the nuptial league the worthy were
mingled with the worthy; that no discord may arise in this con¬
nection when it does not prove prosperous in the end; but that
all the blame may be referred to fortune, and not to the guar¬
dians of such a conjunction.

Tim. We remember this likewise.

Soc. We also ordered that the children of the good should be
properly educated, but that those of the bad should be secretly
sent to some other city; yet so that such of the adult among these
as should be found to be of a good disposition should be recalled
from exile; while, on the contrary, those who were retained from
the first in the city as good, but proved afterwards bad, should
be similarly banished.

Tim. Just so.

Soc. Have we, therefore, sufficiently epitomized yesterday’s
disputation; or do you require any thing further, friend Timaeus,
which I have omitted?

Tim. Nothing, indeed, Socrates; for all this was the subject of
your disputation.

Soc. Hear now how I am affected towards this republic which
we have described; for I will illustrate the affair by a similitude.
Suppose then that some one, on beholding beautiful animals,
whether represented in a picture, or really alive, fbut in a state of
perfect rest, should desire to behold them in motion, and strug¬
gling as it were to imitate those gestures which seem particularly
adapted to the nature of bodies; in such a manner am I affected
towards the form of that republic which we have described. For
I should gladly hear any one relating the contests of our city with
other nations, when it engages in a becoming manner in war, and
acts during such an engagement in a manner worthy of its in¬
stitution, both with respect to practical achievements and verbal
negotiations. For indeed, O Critias and Hermocrates, I am con¬
scious of my own inability to praise such men and such a city
according to their desert. Indeed, that I should be incapable of
such an undertaking is not wonderful, since the same imbecility
seems to have attended poets both of the past and present age.
Not that I despise the poetic tribe; but it appears from hence
evident, that, as these kind of men are studious of imitation, they
easily and in the best manner express things in which they have
been educated; while, on the contrary, whatever is foreign from
their education they imitate with difficulty in actions, and with
still more difficulty in words. But with respect to the tribe of
Sophists, though I consider them as skilled both in the art of
speaking and in many other illustrious arts; yet, as they have no
settled abode, but wander daily through a multitude of cities, I
am afraid lest, with respect to the institutions of philosophers
and politicians, they should not be able to conjecture the quality
and magnitude of those concerns which wise and politic men

are engaged in with individuals, in warlike undertakings, both
in actions and discourse. It remains, therefore, that I should
apply to you, who excel in the study of wisdom and civil adminis¬
tration, as well naturally as through the assistance of proper dis¬
cipline and institution. For Timaeus here of Locris, an Italian
city governed by the best of laws, exclusive of his not being in¬
ferior to any of his fellow-citizens in wealth and nobility, has
arrived in his own city at the highest posts of government and
honours. Besides, we all know that Critias is not ignorant of the
particulars of which we are now speaking. Nor is this to be
doubted of Hermocrates, since a multitude of circumstances
evince that he is both by nature and education adapted to all such
concerns. Hence, when you yesterday requested me to dispute
about the institution of a republic, I readily complied with your
request; being persuaded that the remainder of the discourse
could not be more conveniently explained by any one than by
you, if you were but willing to engage in its discussion. For, un¬
less you properly adapt the city for warlike purposes, there is
no one in the present age from whom it can acquire every thing
becoming its constitution. As I have, therefore, hitherto com¬
plied with your request, I shall now require you to comply with
mine in the above-mentioned particulars. Nor have you indeed
refused this employment, but have with common consent deter¬
mined to repay my hospitality with the banquet of discourse.
I now, therefore, stand prepared to receive the promised feast.

Herm. But we, O Socrates, as Timaeus just now signified, shall
cheerfully engage in the execution of your desire; for we can¬
not offer any excuse sufficient to justify neglect in this affair. For
yesterday, when we departed from hence and went to the lodg¬
ing of Critias, where we are accustomed to reside, both in his
apartment and prior to this in the way thither we discoursed on
this very particular. He therefore related to us a certain ancient
history, which I wish, O Critias, you would now repeat to
Socrates, that he may judge whether it any way conduces to the
fulfilment of his request.

Crit. It is requisite to comply, if agreeable to Timaeus, the
third associate of our undertaking.

Tim. I assent to your compliance.

Crit. Hear then, O Socrates, a discourse surprising indeed in
the extreme, yet in every respect true, as it was once related by
Solon, the most wise of the seven wise men. Solon, then, was the
familiar and intimate friend of our great-grandfather Dropis, as
he himself often relates in his poems. But he once declared to
our grandfather Critias, (as the old man himself informed us,)
that great and admirable actions had once been achieved by
this city, which nevertheless were buried in oblivion, through
length of time and the destruction of mankind. In particular he
informed me of one undertaking more illustrious than the rest,
which I now think proper to relate to you, both that I may repay
my obligations, and that by such a relation I may offer my trib¬
ute of praise to the Goddess in the present solemnity, by celebrat¬
ing her divinity, as it were, with hymns, justly and in a manner
agreeable to truth.

Soc. You speak well. But what is this ancient achievement
which was not only actually related by Solon, but was once really
accomplished by this city?

Crit. I will acquaint you with that ancient history, which I
did not indeed receive from a youth, but from a man very much
advanced in years; for at that time Critias, as he himself declared,
was almost ninety years old, and I myself was about ten. When,
therefore, that solemnity was celebrated among us which is
known by the name of Cureotis Apaturiorum x , nothing was

1 The Apaturia , according to Proclus and Suidas, were festivals in honour
of Bacchus, which were publicly celebrated for the space of three days. And
they were assigned this name 61 clxclxti, that is, on account of the deception
through which Neptune is reported to have vanquished Xanthus. The first
day of these festivals was called 6oqjteioi, in which, as the name indicates,
those of the same tribe feasted together; and hence (says Proclus) on this
day eucoxiai xai Seltvcl jroXXa, splendid banquets and much feasting took
place. The second day was called ctvaQQuaig, a sacrifice, because many vic¬
tims were sacrificed in it; and hence the victims were called avaQQujiaxa,

omitted which boys in that festivity are accustomed to perform.
For, when our parents had set before us the rewards proposed for
the contest of singing verses, both a multitude of verses of many
poets were recited, and many of us especially sung the poems of
Solon, because they were at that time entirely new. But then
one of our tribe, whether he was willing to gratify Critias, or
whether it was his real opinion, affirmed that Solon appeared to
him most wise in other concerns, and in things respecting poetry
the most ingenious of all poets. Upon hearing this, the old man
(for I very well remember) was vehemently delighted; and said,
laughing—If Solon, O Amynander, had not engaged in poetry as
a casual affair, but had made it, as others do, a serious employ¬
ment; and if through seditions and other fluctuations of the
state, in which he found his country involved, he had not been
compelled to neglect the completion of the history which he
brought from Egypt, I do not think that either Hesiod or Homer,
or any other poet, would have acquired greater glory and re¬
nown. In consequence of this, Amynander inquired of Critias
what that history was. To which he answered, that it was con¬
cerning an affair the greatest and most celebrated which this city
ever performed; though through length of time, and the destruc¬
tion of those by whom it was undertaken, the fame of its execu¬
tion has not reached the present age. But I beseech you, O
Critias, (says Amynander,) relate this affair from the beginning;
and inform me what that event was which Solon asserted as a
fact, and on what occasion, and from whom he received it.

There is then (says he) a certain region of Egypt called Delta,
about the summit of which the streams of the Nile are divided.
In this place a government is established called Saitical; and the

because equouevo. ccvco f&ueto, they were drawn upwards, and sacrificed.
The third day, of which Plato speaks in this place, was called xouoEwrni;,
because on this day xowtoA. that is, boys or girls, were collected together in
tribes, with their hair shorn. And to these some add a fourth day, which
they call E;u65a, or the day after. Proclus further informs us, that the boys
who were collected on the third day were about three or four years old.

chief city of this region of Delta is Sais, from which also king
Amasis derived his origin. The city has a presiding divinity,
whose name is in the Egyptian tongue Neith, and in the Greek
Athena, or Minerva. These men were friends of the Athenians,
with whom they declared they were very familiar, through a cer¬
tain bond of alliance. In this country Solon, on his arrival
thither, was, as he himself relates, very honourably received.
And upon his inquiring about ancient affairs of those priests
who possessed a knowledge in such particulars superior to others,
he perceived, that neither himself, nor any one of the Greeks,
(as he himself declared), had any knowledge of very remote
antiquity. Hence, when he once desired to excite them to the
relation of ancient transactions, he for this purpose began to dis¬
course about those most ancient events which formerly hap¬
pened among us. I mean the traditions concerning the first
Phoroneus and Niobe, and after the deluge, of Deucalion and
Pyrrha, (as described by the mythologists,) together with their
posterity; at the same time paying a proper attention to the dif¬
ferent ages in which these events are said to have subsisted. But
upon this one of those more ancient priests exclaimed, O Solon,
Solon, you Greeks are always children, nor is there any such
thing as an aged Grecian among you! But Solon, when he heard
this—What (says he) is the motive of your exclamation? To
whom the priest:—Because all your souls are juvenile; neither
containing any ancient opinion derived from remote tradition,
nor any discipline hoary from its existence in former periods of
time. But the reason of this is the multitude and variety of de¬
structions of the human race, which formerly have been, and
again will be: the greatest of these, indeed, arising from fire and
water; but the lesser from ten thousand other contingencies.
For the relation subsisting among you, that Phaeton, the off¬
spring of the Sun, on a certain time attempting to drive the
chariot of his father, and not being able to keep the track ob¬
served by his parent, burnt up the nature's belonging to the earth,
and perished himself, blasted by thunder—is indeed considered

100

as fabulous, yet is in reality true. For it expresses the mutation
of the bodies revolving in the heavens about the earth; and indi¬
cates that, through long periods of time, a destruction of terres¬
trial natures ensues from the devastations of fire. Hence, those
who either dwell on mountains, or in lofty and dry places, perish
more abundantly than those who dwell near rivers, or on the
borders of the sea. To us indeed the Nile is both salutary in
other respects, and liberates us from the fear of such-like depre¬
dations. But when the Gods, purifying the earth by waters,
deluge its surface, then the herdsmen and shepherds inhabiting
the mountains are preserved, while the inhabitants of your cities
are hurried away to the sea by the impetuous inundation of the
rivers. On the contrary, in our region, neither then, nor at any
other time, did the waters descending from on high pour with
desolation on the plains; but they are naturally impelled up¬
wards from the bosom of the earth. And from these causes the
most ancient traditions are preserved in our country. For, in¬
deed, it may be truly asserted, that in those places where neither
intense cold nor immoderate heat prevails, the race of mankind
is always preserved, though sometimes the number of individuals
is increased, and sometimes suffers a considerable diminution.
But whatever has been transacted either by us, or by you, or in
any other place, beautiful or great, or containing any thing un¬
common, of which we have heard the report, every thing of this
kind is to be found described in our temples, and preserved to
the present day. While, on the contrary, you and other nations
commit only recent transactions to writing, and to other inven¬
tions which society has employed for transmitting information
to posterity; and so again, at stated periods of time, a certain
celestial defluxion rushes on them like a disease; from whence
those among you who survive are both destitute of literary ac¬
quisitions and the inspiration of the Muses. Hence it happens
that you become juvenile again, and ignorant of the events which
happened in ancient times, as well among us as in the regions
which you inhabit.

101

The transactions, therefore, O Solon, which you relate from
your antiquities, differ very little from puerile fables. For, in
the first place, you only mention one deluge of the earth, when
at the same time many have happened. And, in the next place,
you are ignorant of a most illustrious and excellent race of men,
who once inhabited your country; from whence you and your
whole city descended, though a small seed only of this admirable
people once remained. But your ignorance in this affair is owing
to the posterity of this people, who were for many ages deprived
of the use of letters, and became as it were dumb. For prior,
O Solon, to that mighty deluge which we have just mentioned,
a city of Athenians existed, informed according to the best laws
both in military concerns and every other duty of life; and whose
illustrious actions and civil institutions are celebrated by us as
the most excellent of all that have existed under the ample cir¬
cumference of the heavens. Solon, therefore, upon hearing this,
said that he was astonished; and, burning with a most ardent de¬
sire, entreated the priests to relate accurately all the actions of
his ancient fellow-citizens. That afterwards one of the priests
replied:—Nothing of envy, O Solon, prohibits us from comply¬
ing with your request. But for your sake, and that of your city,
I will relate the whole; and especially on account of that Goddess
who is allotted the guardianship both of your city and ours, and
by whom they have been educated and founded: yours, indeed,
by a priority to ours of a thousand years, receiving the seed of
your race from Vulcan and the Earth. But the description of
the transactions of this our city during the space of eight thou¬
sand years, is preserved in our sacred writings. I will, therefore,
cursorily run over the laws and more illustrious actions of those
cities which existed nine thousand years ago. For when we are
more at leisure we shall prosecute an exact history of every par¬
ticular, receiving for this purpose the sacred writings themselves.

In the first place, then, consider the laws of these people, and
compare them with ours: for you will find many things which
then subsisted in your city, similar to such as exist at present.

102

For the priests passed their life separated from all others. The
artificers also exercised their arts in such a manner, that each was
engaged in his own employment without being mingled with
other artificers. The same method was likewise adopted with
shepherds, hunters and husbandmen. The soldiers too, you will
find, were separated from other kind of men; and were com¬
manded by the laws to engage in nothing but warlike affairs. A
similar armour too, such as that of shields and darts, was em¬
ployed by each. These we first used in Asia; the Goddess in those
places, as likewise happened to you, first pointing them out to
our use. You may perceive too from the beginning what great
attention was paid by the laws to prudence and modesty; and
besides this, to divination and medicine, as subservient to the
preservation of health. And from these, which are divine goods,
the laws, proceeding to the invention of such as are merely
human, procured all such other disciplines as follow from those
we have just enumerated. From such a distribution, therefore,
and in such order, the Goddess first established and adorned your
city, choosing for this purpose the place in which you were born;
as she foresaw that, from the excellent temperature of the region,
men would arise distinguished by the most consummate sagacity
and wit. For, as the Goddess is a lover both of wisdom and war,
she fixed on a soil capable of producing men the most similar to
herself; and rendered it in every respect adapted for the habita¬
tion of such a race. The ancient Athenians, therefore, using
these laws, and being formed by good institutions, in a still
higher degree than I have mentioned, inhabited this region;
surpassing all men in every virtue, as it becomes those to do who
are the progeny and pupils of the Gods.

But though many and mighty deeds of your city are contained
in our sacred writings, and are admired as they deserve, yet there
is one transaction which surpasses all of them in magnitude and
virtue. For these writings relate what prodigious strength your
city formerly tamed, when a mighty warlike power, rushing from
the Atlantic sea, spread itself with hostile fury over all Europe

and Asia. For at that time the Atlantic sea was navigable, and
had an island before that mouth which is called by you the
Pillars of Hercules. But this island was greater than both Libya
and all Asia together, and afforded an easy passage to other
neighbouring islands; as it was likewise easy to pass from those
islands to all the continent which borders on this Atlantic sea.
For the waters which are beheld within the mouth which we just
now mentioned, have the form of a bay with a narrow entrance;
but the mouth itself is a true sea. And lastly, the earth which
surrounds it is in every respect truly denominated the continent.
In this Atlantic island a combination of kings was formed, who
with mighty and wonderful power subdued the whole island,
together with many other islands and parts of the continent; and,
besides this, subjected to their dominion all Libya, as far as to
Egypt; and Europe, as far as to the Tyrrhene sea. And when they
were collected in a powerful league, they endeavoured to enslave
all our regions and yours, and besides this all those places situated
within the mouth of the Atlantic sea. Then it was, O Solon, that
the power of your city was conspicuous to all men for its virtue
and strength. For, as its armies surpassed all others both in mag¬
nanimity and military skill, so with respect to its contests,
whether it was assisted by the rest of the Greeks, over whom it
presided in warlike affairs, or whether it was deserted by them
through the incursions of the enemies, and became situated in
extreme danger, yet still it remained triumphant. In the mean
time, those who were not yet enslaved it liberated from danger;
and procured the most ample liberty for all those of us who dwell
within the Pillars of Hercules. But in succeeding time prodi¬
gious earthquakes and deluges taking place, and bringing with
them desolation in the space of one day and night, all that war¬
like race of Athenians was at once merged under the earth; and
the Atlantic island itself, being absorbed in the sea, entirely dis¬
appeared. And hence that sea is at present innavigable, arising
from the gradually impeding mud which the subsiding island

104

produced. And this, O Socrates, is the sum of what the elder
Critias repeated from the narration of Solon.

But when yesterday you was discoursing about a republic and
its citizens, I was surprised on recollecting the present history:
for I perceived how divinely, from a certain fortune, and not
wandering from the mark, you collected many things agreeing
with the narration of Solon. Yet I was unwilling to disclose
these particulars immediately, as, from the great interval of time
since I first received them, my remembrance of them was not
sufficiently accurate for the purpose of repetition. I considered
it, therefore, necessary that I should first of all diligently revolve
the whole in my mind. And on this account I yesterday immedi¬
ately complied with your demands: for I perceived that we
should not want the ability of presenting a discourse accommo¬
dated to your wishes, which in things of this kind is of prin¬
cipal importance. In consequence of this, as Hermocrates has
informed you, immediately as we departed from hence, by com¬
municating these particulars with my friends here present, for
the purpose of refreshing my memory, and afterwards revolving
them in my mind by night, I nearly acquired a complete recol¬
lection of the affair. And, indeed, according to the proverb,
what we learn in childhood abides in the memory with a wonder¬
ful stability. For, with respect to myself, for instance, I am not
certain that I could recollect the whole of yesterday's discourse,
yet I should be very much astonished if any thing should escape
my remembrance which I had heard in some past period of time
very distant from the present. Thus, as to the history which I
have just now related, I received it from the old man with great
pleasure and delight; who on his part very readily complied with
my request, and frequently gratified me with a repetition. And
hence, as the marks of letters deeply burnt in remain indelible,
so all these particulars became firmly established in my memory.
In consequence of this, as soon as it was day I repeated the narra¬
tion to my friends, that together with myself they might be better
prepared for the purposes of the present association. But now,

105

with respect to that for which this narration was undertaken, I
am prepared, O Socrates, to speak not only summarily, but so as
to descend to the particulars of every thing which I heard. But
the citizens and city which you fabricated yesterday as in a fable,
we shall transfer to reality; considering that city which you es¬
tablished as no other than this Athenian city, and the citizens
which you conceived as no other than those ancestors of ours de¬
scribed by the Egyptian priest. And indeed the affair will har¬
monize in every respect; nor will it be foreign from the purpose
to assert that your citizens are those very people who existed at
that time. Hence, distributing the affair in common among us,
we will endeavour, according to the utmost of our ability, to
accomplish in a becoming manner the employment which you
have assigned us. It is requisite, therefore, to consider, O
Socrates, whether this discourse is reasonable, or whether we
should lay it aside, and seek after another.

Soc. But what other, O Critias, should we receive in prefer¬
ence to this? For your discourse, through a certain affinity, is
particularly adapted to the present sacred rites of the Goddess.
And besides this, we should consider, as a thing of the greatest
moment, that your relation is not a mere fable, but a true history.
It is impossible, therefore, to say how, and from whence, neglect¬
ing your narration, we should find another more convenient.
Hence it is necessary to confess that you have spoken with good
fortune; and it is equally necessary that I, on account of my
discourse yesterday, should now rest from speaking, and be
wholly attentive to yours.

Crit. But now consider, Socrates, the manner of our disposing
the mutual banquet of disputation. For it seems proper to us
that TimiEUS, who is the most astronomical of us all, and is par¬
ticularly knowing in the nature of the universe, should speak the
first; commencing his discourse from the generation of the world,
and ending in the nature of men. But that I after him, receiving
the men which he has mentally produced, but which have been
excellently educated by you, and introducing them to you ac-

106

cording to the law of Solon, as to proper judges, should render
them members of this city; as being in reality no other than those
Athenians which were described as unknown to us in the report
of the sacred writings. And that in future we shall discourse con¬
cerning them as about citizens and Athenians.

Soc. I seem to behold a copious and splendid banquet of dis¬
putation set before me. It is, therefore, now your business, O
Timaeus, to begin the discourse; having first of all, as is highly
becoming, invoked the Gods according to law.

Tim. Indeed, Socrates, since those who participate but the
least degree of wisdom, in the beginning of every undertaking,
whether small or great, call upon Divinity, it is necessary that we
(unless we are in every respect unwise) who are about to speak
concerning the universe, whether it is generated or without
generation, invoking the Gods and Goddesses, should pray that
what we assert may be agreeable to their divinities, and that in
the ensuing discourse we may be consistent with ourselves. And
such is my prayer to the Gods, with reference to myself; but as
to what respects the present company, it is necessary to pray that
you may easily understand, and that I may be able to explain my
meaning about the proposed subjects of disputation. In the first
place, therefore, as it appears to me, it is necessary to define what
that is which is always real being x , but isvwithout generation;

1 It is well observed here by Proclus, that Plato, after the manner of
geometricians, assumes, prior to demonstrations, definitions and hypotheses,
through which he frames his demonstrations, and previously delivers the
principles of the whole of physiology. For, as the principles of music are
different from those of medicine, and those of arithmetic from those of
mechanics, in like manner there are certain principles of the whole of
physiology, which Plato now delivers: and these are as follow. True being is
that which is apprehended by intelligence in conjunction with reason: that
which is generated, is the object of opinion in conjunction with irrational
sense: every thing generated is generated from a cause: that which does not
subsist from a cause is not generated: that of which the paradigm is eternal
being, is necessarily beautiful: that of which the paradigm is generated, is
not beautiful: the universe is denominated heaven, or the world. For from
these principles he produces all that follows. Hence, says Proclus, he ap-

and what that is which is generated indeed , or consists in a state
of becoming to be, but which never really is. The former of these
indeed is apprehended by intelligence in conjunction with rea¬
son , since it always subsists according to same. But the latter is
perceived by opinion in conjunction with irrational sense ; since
it subsists in a state of generation and corruption, and never truly
is. But whatever is generated is necessarily generated from a cer¬
tain cause. For it is every way impossible that any thing should
be generated without a cause. When, therefore, an artificer, in
the fabrication of any work, looks to that which always subsists
according to same , and, employing a paradigm of this kind, ex¬
presses the idea and power in his work, it is then necessary that
the whole of his production should be beautiful. But when he
beholds that which is in generation, and uses a generated para¬
digm, it is alike necessary that his work should be far from
beautiful.

I denominate, therefore, this universe heaven, or the world,
or by any other appellation in which it may particularly rejoice.

pears to me to say what eternal is, and what that which is generated is, but
not to say that each of them is. For the geometrician also informs us what
a point is and what a line is, prior to his demonstrations, but he by no means
teaches us that each of these has a subsistence. For how will he act the part
of a geometrician, if he discourses about the existence of his proper prin¬
ciples? After the same manner the physiologist says xuhat eternal being is,
for the sake of the future demonstrations, but by no means shows that it is;
since in so doing he would pass beyond the limits of physiology. As, how¬
ever, Timseus being a Pythagorean differs from other physiologists, and
Plato in this dialogue exhibits the highest science, hence he afterwards, in
a manner perfectly divine, proves that true being has a subsistence; but at
present he employs the definition of what it is, preserving the limits of
physiology. He appears, indeed, to investigate the definition of eternal
being, and of that which is generated, that he may discover the causes which
give completion to the universe, viz. form and matter: for that which is
generated requires these. But he assumes the third hypothesis, that he may
discover the fabricative cause of the universe; the fourth, because the uni¬
verse was generated according to a paradigmatic cause; and the fifth con¬
cerning the name of the universe, that he may investigate the participation
of the good and the ineffable by the world.

Concerning which, let us in the first place consider that which,
in the proposed inquiry about the universe, ought in the very
beginning to be investigated; whether it always was, having no
principle of generation 1 , or whether it was generated, commenc¬
ing its generation from a certain cause. It was generated. For
this universe is visible, and has a body. But all such things are
sensible. And sensibles are apprehended by opinion, in conjunc¬
tion with sense. And such things appear to have their subsist-

1 That is denominated generated, says Proclus (in Tim.) which has not
the whole of its essence or energy established in one, so as to be per¬
fectly immutable. And of this kind are, this sensible world, time in things
moved, and the transitive intellection of souls. But that every motion sub¬
sists according to a part, and that the whole of it is not present at once, is
evident. And if the essence of the world possesses generation, and the per¬
petuity of it is according to a temporal infinity, it may be inferred, that
between things eternally perpetual, and such as are generated in a part of
time, it is necessary that nature should subsist which is generated infinitely.
It is also requisite that a nature of this kind should be generated infinitely
in a twofold respect, viz. either that the whole of it should be perpetual
through the whole of time, but that the parts should subsist in the parts of
time, as is the case with the sublunary elements, or that both the whole and
the parts of it should be co-extended with the perpetuity of all time, as is the
case with die heavenly bodies. For the perpetuity according to eternity is
not the same with the perpetuity of the whole of time, as neither is the in¬
finity of eternity and time the same; because eternity is not the same with
time, the former being infinite life at once total and full, or, the whole of
which is ever present to itself, and the latter being a flowing image of such
a life.

Further still, says Proclus, the term generated has a multifarious mean¬
ing. For it signifies that which has a temporal beginning, every thing which
proceeds from a cause, that which is essentially a composite, and that which
is naturally capable of being generated, though it should not be generated.
The term generated, therefore, being multifariously predicated, that which
is generated according to time possesses all the modes of generation. For
it proceeds from a cause, is a composite, and is naturally capable of being
generated. Hence, as that which is generated in a part of time begins at
one time, and arrives at perfection in another, so the world, which is gen¬
erated according to the whole of time, is always beginning, and always
perfect. And it has indeed a certain beginning of generation, so far as it is
perfected by its cause, but has not a certain beginning so far as it has not a
beginning of a certain partial time.

109

ence in becoming to be, and in being generated. But we have
before asserted, that whatever is generated is necessarily gen¬
erated from some cause. To discover, therefore, the artificer and
father of the universe is indeed difficult; and when found it is
impossible to reveal him through the ministry of discourse to all
men.

Again: this is to be considered concerning him, I mean, ac¬
cording to what paradigm extending himself, he fabricated the
world—whether towards an exemplar, subsisting according to
that which is always the same, and similarly affected, or towards
that which is generated. But, indeed, if this world is beautiful,
and its artificer good, it is evident that he looked towards an
eternal exemplar in its fabrication. But if the world be far from
beautiful, which it is not lawful to assert, he necessarily beheld a
generated instead of an eternal exemplar. But it is perfectly evi¬
dent that he regarded an eternal paradigm. For the world is the
most beautiful of generated natures, and its artificer the best of
causes. But, being thus generated, it is fabricated according to
that which is comprehensible by reason and intelligence, and
which subsists in an abiding sameness of being. And from hence
it is perfectly necessary that this world should be the resemblance
of something. But to describe its origin according to nature is the
greatest of all undertakings. In this manner, then, we must dis¬
tinguish concerning the image and its exemplar. As words are
allied to the things of which they are the interpreters, hence it is
necessary, when we speak of that which is stable 1 and firm, and

1 That which Plato now calls stable and firm, he before called eternal
being, subsisting after the same manner, and apprehended by intelligence;
denominating it stable instead of eternal being, and intellectually apparent,
instead of that which is apprehended by intelligence. He also says, that the
reasonings about it should be stable indeed, that through the sameness of
the appellation he may indicate the similitude of them to things themselves;
but immutable, that they may shadow forth the firmness of the thing; and
irreprehensible, that they may imitate that which is apprehended by intelli¬
gence, and may scientifically accede. For it is necessary that reasonings, if
they are to be adapted to intelligibles, should possess the accurate and the

1 lO

intellectually apparent, that our reasons should be in like man¬
ner stable and immutable, and as much as possible irreprehen-
sible, with every perfection of a similar kind. But that, when we
speak concerning the image of that which is immutable, we
should employ only probable arguments, which have the same
analogy to the former as a resemblance to its exemplar. And,
indeed, as essence 1 is to generation, so is truth to faith. You must

stable, as being conversant with things of this kind. For, as the knowledge
of things eternal is immutable, so also is the reasoning; since it is evolved
knowledge. However, as it proceeds into multitude, is allotted a composite
nature, and on this account falls short of the union and impartibility of the
thing, he calls the former in the singular number stable and firm , and
intellectually apparent, but the latter in the plural number stable, im¬
mutable and irreprehensible reasons. And since in reason there is a certain
similitude to its paradigm, and there is also a certain dissimilitude, and the
latter is more abundant than the former, he employs one appellation in
common, the stable; but the other epithets are different. And as, with re¬
spect to our knowledge, scientific reasoning cannot be confuted by it, (for
there is nothing in us better than science,) but is confuted by the thing itself,
as not being able to comprehend its nature such as it is, and as it comes into
contact with its impartibility, hence he adds, as much as possible. For science
itself considered as subsisting in souls is irreprehensible, but is reprehended
by intellect, because it evolves the impartible, and apprehends the simple
in a composite manner. Since the phantasy also reprehends sense, because
its knowledge is attended with passion according to mixture, from which the
phantasy is pure; opinion the phantasy, because it knows in conjunction
with type and form, to which opinion is superior; science opinion, because
the latter knows without being able to assign the cause, the ability of
effecting which especially characterizes the former; and intellect as we
have said science, because the latter divides the object of knowledge
transitively, but the former apprehends every thing at once in conjunction
with essence. Intellect, therefore, is alone unconquerable; but science and
scientific reasoning are vanquished by intellect, according to the knowledge
of being.

1 Plato, says Proclus, had prior to this made two things the leaders, the in¬
telligible and that which is generated, or paradigm and image, and had
assumed two things analogous to these, science and probability, or truth
and faith, truth being to an intelligible paradigm as faith to a generated
image; and now he geometrically adds the alternate proportion. For, if
as truth is to the intelligible, so is faith to that which is generated, it will
be alternately as truth is to faith, so the intelligible to that which is gener-

11 1

not wonder, therefore, O Socrates, since many things are as¬
serted by many concerning the Gods and the generation of the
universe, if I should not be able to produce the most approved

ated. Plato, therefore, clearly divides reasonings and knowledges with the
things knov/n; and Parmenides also, though obscure through his poetry,
yet at the same time says, that there are twofold knowledges, truth and
faith, of twofold things, viz. of beings and non-beings; and the former of
these knowledges he calls splendour, as shining with intellectual light, but
he deprives the latter of stable knowledge. The faith, however, which Plato
now assumes appears to be different from that of which he speaks in the sixth
book of his Republic, in the section of a line; for that is irrational knowl¬
edge, whence also it is divided from conjecture, but is arranged according
to sense. But the present faith is rational, though it is mingled with irra¬
tional knowledges, employing sense and conjecture; and hence it is filled
with much of the unstable. For, receiving that a thing is from sense or
conjecture, it thus assigns the causes: but these knowledges possess much of
the confused and unstable. Hence Socrates in the Phzedo very much blames
the senses, because we neither see nor hear any thing accurately. How then
can knowledge, originating from sense, possess the accurate and irreprehen-
sible? For those powers that employ science alone collect with accuracy
every thing which is the object of their knowledge; but those powers that
energize with sense err and fall off from the accurate, through sense, and
through the unstable nature of the thing known. For what can any one
assert of that which is material, since it is always changing and flowing, and
is not naturally adapted to abide for a moment? And with respect to a
celestial nature, in consequence of being very remote from us, it is not
easily known, nor scientifically apprehended; but we must be satisfied with
an approximation to the truth, and with probability in the speculation of
it. For every thing which is in place requires a residence there, in order
to a perfect knowledge of its nature. But the intelligible is not a thing of
this kind, since it is not to be apprehended by our knowledge in place.
For where any one stops his dianoetic power, there, in consequence of the
intelligible being every where present, he comes into contact with truth. And
if it is possible to assert any thing stable concerning a celestial nature, this
also is possible, so far as it partakes of being, and so far as it is to be appre¬
hended by intelligence. For it is through geometrical demonstrations, which
are universal, that we are alone able to collect any thing necessary con¬
cerning it; but, so far as it is sensible, it is with difficulty apprehended,
and with difficulty surveyed.

With respect to truth, however, Plato, following the theologists, establishes
it as manifold. For one kind of truth is characterized by the nature of the
one, being the light proceeding from the good, which, in the Philebus, he

112

and accurate reasons on so difficult a subject. But you ought to
rejoice if it shall appear that I do not employ reasons less prob¬
able than others: at the same time remembering, that I who dis¬
course, and that you who are my judges, possess the human na¬
ture in common; so that you should be satisfied if my assertions
are but assimilative of the truth.

Soc. You speak excellently well, Timaeus; and we shall cer¬
tainly act in every respect as you advise. This introduction, in¬
deed, of your discourse we wonderfully approve: proceed, there¬
fore, with the subsequent disputation.

Tim. Let us declare then on what account the composing
artificer constituted generation and the universe. The artificer,
indeed, was good; but in that which is good envy never subsists
about any thin g which has being. Hence, as he was entirely void
of envy, he was willing to produce all things as much as possible
simil ar to himself . If, therefore, any one receives this most prin¬
cipal cause of generation and the world from wise and prudent
men, he will receive him in a manner the most perfect and true.
For, as the Divinity was willing that all things should be good,
and that as much as possible nothing should be evil; hence, re¬
ceiving every^ tiling visible, a nd whic h was not in a st ate of res t,
but moving with confusion 1 and disorder, he reduced it. from

says, imparts purity, and, in the Republic, union, to intelligibles. Another
kind is that which proceeds from intelligibles, which illuminates the intel¬
lectual orders, which an essence unfigured, uncoloured, and untouched
first receives, and where also the plain of truth is situated, as it is written
in the Phaedrus. A third kind of truth is that which is connate with souls,
which comes into contact with being through intelligence, and science sub¬
sisting in conjunction with the objects of science: for the light pertaining to
the soul is the third from the intelligible; since the intellectual is filled
from the intelligible, and that pertaining to the soul from the intellectual
order. This truth, therefore, subsisting in souls, must be now assumed,
since we have admitted a corresponding faith, and not that which is irra¬
tional, and destitute of all logical consideration; and the one must be
conjoined with intelligibles, but the other with sensibles.

1 Plato being willing to indicate the providence of the demiurgus per¬
vading the universe, together with the gifts of intellect and the presence of

th is wild inordinati on into order, considering that s uch a co n-
duct was by far the best./ For it neith er ever was lawful, nor is,
for the best of causes to produ ce_any otlreiLthan th e most beauti -
ful of effects/in consequence of a reasoning 1 process, Therefore,

soul, and to show the magnitude of the good which these impart to the
world, surveys prior to this the whole corporeal constitution by itself, and
how, thus considered, it is confused and disordered; that also, beholding
by itself the order proceeding from soul and demiurgic ornament, we may
be able to define what a corporeal nature is in itself, and what orderly
distribution it is allotted from fabrication. The world, indeed, always had
a subsistence, but discourse divides the thing generated from the maker,
and produces according to time things which subsist at once together, be¬
cause every thing generated is a composite. To which we may add, that
demiurgic fabrication being twofold, one being corporeal, and the other
ornamental, Plato, beginning from the ornamental, very properly repre¬
sents every thing corporeal moved in a confused and disordered manner,
because such is its motion from itself when considered as not yet animated
by an intellectual soul.

It also deserves to be noticed that Plato, in giving subsistence to the con¬
fused and disordered, prior to the fabrication of the world, imitates the
ancient theologists. For, as they introduce the battles and seditions of the
Titans against the Olympian Gods, so Plato pre-supposes these two, the
unadorned, and the fabricator of the world, that the former may be
adorned and participate of order. They, however, introduce these theo¬
logically; for they oppose the powers that preside over bodies to the
Olympian deities: but Plato philosophically; for he transfers order from
the Gods to the subjects of their government.

1 The demiurgus of the universe, through the plenitude of his power,
fabricates different things by different powers; for, since he comprehends
in himself the cause of all fabrications, he after one manner gives subsistence
to the whole world, and after another to its parts. Hence, by one intelligence
he adorns the whole world, and generates it collectively, according to
which energy the world also is one animal; but by reasoning he produces
its parts, and these as wholes, because he is the demiurgus of total natures,
viz. of total intellect, total soul, and all the bulk of body. In consequence of
this, when composing parts, he is said to fabricate by reasoning. For reason¬
ing here signifies a distributive cause of things; since it is not the reasoning
of one doubting. For neither does art doubt, nor science; but artists and
the scientific then doubt when they are Indigent of their proper habits. If
these, therefore, do not doubt when they are perfect, can it be supposed
that intellect doubts, or the fabricator and father of the universe?

114

he found that among the things naturally visible 1 there was
nothing, the whole of which, if void of intelligence, could ever
become more beautiful than the whole of that which is endued
with intellect: and at the same time he discovered, that it was
impossible for intellect to accede, to any being, without the inter¬
vention of soul. Hence, as the result of this reasoning, placing
intellect in soul and soul in body, he fabricated the universe;
that thus it might be a work naturally the most beautiful and the
best. In this manner, therefore, according to an assimilative rea¬
son, it is necessary to call the world an animal, endued with in¬
tellect, and generated through the providence of Divinity.

This being determined, let us consider what follows; and, in
the next place, after the similitude of what animals the compos¬
ing artificer constituted the world. Indeed, we must by no means
think that he fashioned it similar to such animals as subsist in
the form of a part, or have a partial subsistence: for, if it had been
assimilated to an imperfect animal, it certainly would not have
been beautiful. But we should rather establish it as the most
similar of all things to that animal, of which other animals, both
considered separately and according to their genera, are nothing
more than parts. For this, indeed, contains all intelligible ani¬
mals comprehended in itself; just as this world contains us and
the other animals which are the objects of sight. For, the Divinity
being willing to assimilate this universe in the most exquisite
degree to that which is the most beautiful and every way perfect
of intelligible objects, he composed it one visible animal, con¬
taining within itself all such animals as are allied to its nature.
Do we therefore rightly conclude that there is but one universe;

1 That is, intelligibles: for that these are visible is evident from the words
of Plato further on, where he says—“Whatever ideas intellect perceived
in animal itself," &c. But that these are naturally visible will be evident, as
Proclus beautifully observes, if we consider that some things are visible to
us, and others according to nature. And the things, indeed, which are
visible to us, are in their own nature dark and obscure; but things naturally
visible are truly known, and are resplendent with divine light. And such are
intelligibles.

or is it more right to assert that there are many and infinite? But
indeed there can be but one, if it be only admitted that it is
fabricated according to an exemplar. For that which compre¬
hends all intelligible animals whatever can never be the second
to any other. For another animal again would be required about
these two, of which they would be parts; and it would be more
proper to assert that the universe is assimilated to this compre¬
hending third, rather than to the other two. That the world,
therefore, from its being singular or alone, might be similar to
all-perfect animal—on this account the artificer neither produced
two nor infinite worlds; but heaven, or the universe, was gen¬
erated and will be one and only begotten.

But since it is necessary that a corporeal nature should be vis¬
ible and tangible, and since nothing can be visible without fire,
and nodiing tangible without something solid, and nothing solid
without earth—hence the Divinity, beginning to fabricate, com¬
posed the body of the universe from fire and earth. But it is im¬
possible for two things alone to cohere together without the
intervention of a third; for a certain collective bond is necessary
in the middle of the two. And that is the most beautiful of bonds
which renders both itself and the natures which are bound re¬
markably one. But the most beautiful analogy naturally pro¬
duces this effect. For when either in three numbers, or masses, or
powers, as is the middle to the last, so is the first to the middle;
and again, as is the last to the middle, so is the middle to the first:
then the middle becoming both first and last, and the last and the
first passing each of them into a middle position, they become all
of them necessarily the same, as to relation to each other. But,
being made the same with each other, all are one. If, then, it
were necessary that the universe should be a superficies only,
and have no depth, one medium would indeed be sufficient, both
for the purpose of binding itself and the natures which it con¬
tains. But now it is requisite that the world should be a solid;
and solids are never harmonized together by one, but always with
two mediums. Hence, the Divinity placed water and air in the

116

middle of fire and earth, and fabricated them as much as pos¬
sible in the same ratio to each other; so that fire might be to air
as air to water; and that as air is to water so water might be to
earth. And from this conjunction and composition he rendered
the world visible and tangible. Hence, from things of this kind,
which are four in number, it must be confessed that the body of
the universe was generated through analogy, conspiring into
friendship with itself from their conjunction, and so aptly coher¬
ing in all its parts, as to be indissoluble except by its artificer,
who bound it in this union and consent.

The composition of the world, therefore, received one whole
of each of these four natures. For its composing artificer con¬
stituted it from all fire, water, air, and earth; leaving no part of
any one of these, nor any power external to the world. For by a
reasoning process he concluded that it would thus be a whole
animal, in the highest degree perfect from perfect parts: that,
besides this, it would be one, as nothing would be left from
which any other such nature might be produced; and lastly, that
it would be neither obnoxious to old age nor disease. For he
perceived that the heat and cold from which bodies are com¬
posed, and all such things as possess vigorous powers, when sur¬
rounding bodies externally, and acceding to them unseasonably,
dissolve their union, and, introducing diseases and old age, cause
them to perish by decay. Hence, through this cause and this
reasoning process, he fabricated the universe one whole, com¬
posed from all wholes, perfect, undecaying, and without disease.
He likewise gave to it a figure becoming and allied to its nature.
For to the animal which was destined to comprehend all animals
in itself, that figure must be the most becoming which contains
within its ambit all figures of every kind. Hence, he fashioned
it of a spherical shape, in which all the radii from the middle are
equally distant from the bounding extremities; as this is the most
perfect of all figures, and the most similar to himself. For he
considered that the similar was infinitely more beautiful than
the dissimilar.

117

Besides this, he accurately polished the external circumference
of the spherical world, and rendered it perfectly smooth 1 . Nor
was the addition of eyes 2 requisite to the universe; for nothing

1 It is well observed here by Proclus, that, the whole universe being
luminous, it is most lucid according to its external superficies, and full of
divine splendour. For through this the poets also place Olympus at the
extremity of the world, this being entirely luminous and self-splendid.

There a white splendour spreads its radiance round,

says Homer. But of this luminous subsistence smoothness is a symbol. Why,
therefore, are the extremities of the universe smooth? We reply, That it
may be spontaneously conjoined with soul and intellect, and that it may
be harmoniously adapted to supermundane lights, through its similitude to
them. Smoothness, therefore, is significant of extreme aptitude, through
which the universe is able to receive the illuminations proceeding from
intellect and soul; just as mirrors, by their smoothness, receive the represen¬
tations of things. Proclus further observes, that a mirror was assumed by
ancient theologists as a symbol of the aptitude of the universe to be filled
with intellectual illumination. Hence, says he, they say that Vulcan made
a mirror for Bacchus, into which the God looking, and beholding the image
of himself, proceeded into the whole of a divisible fabrication. And you
may say that the smoothness of the external surface of the universe, which
is now mentioned by Plato, reminds us of the above-mentioned catoptric
apparatus. The whole body of the universe, therefore, being externally
smooth, becomes connate with its own intellect, and with that of the demi-
urgus. Hence, poets establish the demiurgus on the lofty summit of the world,
which is allotted from him such an aptitude, in order to its participation
of intelligible causes.

2 By these words, says Proclus, Plato appears to do nothing else than to
take away from the universe a divisible life, and divisible organs, which
being suspended from us descend into generation, or the whole of a visible
nature. For, while we remain on high, we are in no want of any one of
these multiform lives and divisible instruments; but our lucid vehicle is
sufficient, which contains in itself unitedly all the senses. As, therefore,
when we are liberated from generation we are purified from every life of
this kind, what ought we to think respecting the universe? Is it not this,
that it has one simple life, to which the whole of it is excited, and that it is
equally on all sides prepared to be filled with one life? Or ought we not
much more to admit these things of the universe? For wholes are more
divine than parts, and things which comprehend than those which are
comprehended.

Plato, however, must not be supposed in what he now says to deprive the
world of sense; for, according to him, the world is an animal, and an animal

visible remained external to itself. Nor were ears necessary; as
there was nothing externally audible. Nor was the universe
invested with surrounding air, that it might be indigent of
respiration. Nor, again, was it in want of any organ through
which it might receive nutriment into itself, and discharge it
when concocted: for there was no possibility that any thing
could either accede to or depart from its nature, since there was
nothing through which such changes could be produced. For,
indeed, the universe affords nutriment to itself through its own
consumption; and, being artificially fabricated, suffers and acts all

is characterized by sense. In order, therefore, to understand what the nature
of that sense is which the world possesses, it will be necessary to make the
following division. Of sense, therefore, the first and most principal is that
which imitates intellect. For every where things which rank as first possess
an imitation of things prior to them. Hence, that is conjoined with first
natures which has a sensible perception of itself, comprehended in itself,
not passing from one thing to another, for this would be divided sense, nor
proceeding to externals, for this is imperfect, but possessing the whole of
that which is sensible in itself, and which may be rather called conscious¬
ness than sense. The next to this is that which proceeds indeed, and does
not abide like the former, but yet proceeds according to a perfect energy,
and always, on all sides, similarly apprehends that which is known; which
is likewise purified from all passion, and from all that imbecility which is
peculiar to divisible and material organs. The third is that which is passive
to things external, and is mingled from passion and knowledge; originating,
indeed, from passion, but ending in knowledge. The last sense is that with
which a most obscure knowledge is present, which is full of passion, and is
proximate to physical sympathy, as not knowing the forms of sensibles; as,
for instance, that what operates is hot or cold, but that what falls upon it
is alone pleasant or painful; for such is the sense of plants, as Timicus
informs us in the course of this dialogue, being the apprehension of that
which is alone pleasant and painful from things sensible. Sense, therefore,
thus supernally proceeding, die world is sensitive according to the first
sense. For it is visible, and an eye, according to the whole of itself, since
the sun also is called an eye, and each of the stars. The world, therefore,
is wholly sight and the thing seen, and is truly to be comprehended by sense
and opinion. Hence, it contains all-perfect knowledge, indivisible sense, and
is itself sensible, the instrument of sense, and sense; just as also its artificer is
intellect, intelligence, and the intelligible. And as it comprehends partial
bodies in its whole body, so likewise it contains many senses in its total sense.

things in itself, and from its own peculiar operations. For its com¬
posing artificer considered that it would be much more ex¬
cellent if sufficient to itself, than if indigent of foreign sup¬
plies. But he neither thought that hands 1 were necessary to
the world, as there was nothing for it either to receive or reject;
nor yet feet, nor any other members which are subservient to
progression and rest. For from among the seven species of local
motion he selected one, which principally subsists about intel¬
lect and intelligence, and assigned it to the world as properly
allied to its surrounding body. Hence, when he had led it round
according to same, in same, and in itself, he caused it to move
with a circular revolution. But he separated the other six mo¬
tions from the world, and framed it void of their wandering
progressions. Hence, as such a conversion was by no means

1 These things, says Proclus, are by no means in the universe, though
after another manner it contains both sense and motion. For, since every
thing sensible is comprehended in it, and it is itself the first sensible, it has
also one sense conjoined with sensible of this kind; just as the intelligence
of the demiurgus is conjoined with the whole of the intelligible, in conse¬
quence of which he is said by Orpheus to absorb the universe in himself.
After this manner, therefore, the world absorbs itself by the sensible per¬
ception of itself, and comprehends the thing known by a connate knowl¬
edge. It also possesses powers which rule over, and are the guardians of,
all things; and these are its hands. It likewise possesses perfective orders,
which are analogous to nutritive parts; and receives vivific causes which
correspond to the members of respiration. Further still, it also contains
other powers, some of which fill it with unapparent causes, and others
connect it with intelligible light. And of these powers, some are analogous
to sight, and others to hearing. With this sense it likewise possesses an
analogous motion; for, as it possesses a sensible perception of itself, so also
it contains motion in itself, and a revolving about itself; and both these
according to the similitude of its paradigm. For in Phanes, or animal
itself, there is intelligence verging to itself, a life converted to itself, and a
knowledge not subsisting according to transition and division, but self¬
perfect, and united with intelligibles themselves. For such is the intellect
which is there, which in consequence of its being absorbed in superessential
light may be said to energize prior to energy; because, according to the
Chaldaic oracle, it has not proceeded, but abides in the paternal profundity,
and in the adytum, according to a silence which is nourished by Deity.

120

indigent of feet, he generated the universe without legs and feet.
When, therefore, that God who is a perpetually reasoning
divinity cogitated about the God who was destined to subsist at
some certain period of time, he produced his body smooth and
equable; and every way from the middle even and whole, and
perfect from the composition of perfect bodies. But, placing
soul in the middle of the world, he extended it through the
whole; and besides this, he externally invested the body of the
universe with soul; and, causing circle to revolve in a circle,
established the world one single, solitary nature, able through
virtue to converse with itself, indigent of nothing external, and
sufficiently known and friendly to itself. And on all these ac¬
counts he rendered the universe a happy 1 God. But indeed
the artificer did not produce soul, as we just now began to say,
junior to body: for he who conjoined these would never permit
that the more ancient nature should be subservient to the
younger. But we, as being much conversant with that which
casually occurs, assert things of this kind in an assimilative way;

1 The happiness of any being is the proper perfection of that being; and
hence, as the perfections of being differ, so also do their felicities. A felicity,
therefore, in the present case must be assumed, adapted to the universe. For,
since the world is suspended from a paternal intellect and a total fabrica-
tive energy, and lives according to those causes, it is happy in a degree
consequent to these. The world, therefore, living according to the will of
the father, and preserving immutably the intellectual good which is thence
imparted, is very justly said to be happy. But the first form of felicity,
says Proclus, and which is all-perfect, is that of the world. The second is
that of the mundane Gods, whom Plato in the Phaxirus calls happy divini¬
ties, following the mighty Jupiter. The third is that which subsists in the
genera superior to our nature, viz. angels, daemons, and heroes; for the
felicity of each of these is different. The fourth is that which subsists in
undefiled souls, who make blameless descents into mortality, and exhibit an
inflexible and untamed life; such as were the souls of Hercules, Pythagoras,
Socrates, Plato, 8cc. The fifth is the felicity of partial souls; and this is
multiform: for a soul the attendant of the moon is not happy after the same
manner as the soul that is suspended from the solar order; but as the form
of life is different, so also the perfection is limited by different measures.
And the last form of felicity is that which is seen in irrational animals.

121

SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA SCHOOL
OF THEOLOGY LIBRARY

while, on the contrary, the artificer of the world constituted soul
both in generation and virtue prior to, and more ancient than,
body, as being the proper lord and ruler of its servile nature; and
that in the following manner:

From an essence impartible \ and always subsisting according

1 The Orphic writers, says Proclus, (in Tim.) do not predicate the im¬
partible of every intelligible or intellectual order, but, accoiding to them,
there is something better than this appellation; just as, with respect to
other names, they do not adapt king and father to all orders. Where, then,
shall we first perceive the indivisible according to Orpheus, that we may
thus understand the divinely intellectual conception of Plato? Orpheus,
therefore, establishing one demiurgus of all divided fabrication, who is
analogous to the one father that generates total fabrication, produces from
him the whole mundane intellectual multitude, the number of souls, and
corporeal compositions. This demiurgus, (viz. Bacchus) therefore, generates
all these unitedly; but the Gods who are placed about him divide and
separate his fabrications. Orpheus says, that all the other fabrications of
this divinity were separated into parts by the distributive Gods, but that
his heart alone was preserved indivisible by the providence of Minerva.
For, as he gave subsistence to intellects, souls and bodies, and souls and bodies
receive in themselves much division and separation into parts, but intellect
remains united and undivided, being all things in one, and comprehending
in one intelligence total intelligibles,—hence he says, that intellectual
essence alone, and an intellectual number, were saved by Minerva. For,
says he,

The intellectual heart alone was saved: •

openly denominating it intellectual. If, therefore, the indivisible heart is
intellectual, it will evidently be intellect and an intellectual number; not
that it will, indeed, be every intellect, but that which is mundane; for this
is the indivisible heart, since the divided God was the fabricator of this.
But Orpheus calls intellect the indivisible essence of Bacchus; and denomi¬
nates his prolific power that life which is distributed about body, which is
physical and productive of seeds, and which he says Diana, who presides
over all the generation in nature, and leads into light physical reasons,
supernally extends as far as to subterranean natures. Alt the remaining body
of the God is, according to Orpheus, mythologically considered as the com¬
position pertaining to the soul, and is divided into seven parts. “All the
parts into which they divided the boy were seven*," says the theologist,

* 'Ejixoi 6 e jiavxa heqti xouqou SiEjioiQiiattvxo tpriaiv 6 $£0X0705 jteqi xcov
Tixavcov.

122

to sameness of being, and from a nature divisible about bodies,
he mingled from both a third form of essence, having a middle
subsistence between the two. And again, between that which is
impartible and that which is divisible about bodies, he placed the
natuie of same and different. And taking these, now they are
three, he mingled them all into one idea. But as the nature of
different could not without difficulty be mingled in same, he
harmonized them together by employing force in their con¬
junction. But after he had mingled these two with essence, and
had produced one from the three, he again divided this whole
into becoming parts; at the same time mingling each part from
same, different, and essence. But he began to divide as follows:-
In the first place, he received one part from the whole. Then
he separated a second part, double of the first; afterwards a third,
sesquialter of the second, but triple of the first: then a fourth,
double of the second; in the next place a fifth, triple of the third;
a sixth, octuple of the first; and lastly a seventh, twenty-seven
times more than the first. After this, he filled up the double
and triple intervals, again cutting off parts from the whole; and
placed them so between the intervals, that there might be two
mediums in every interval; and that one of these might by the
same part exceed one of the extremes, and be exceeded by
the other; and that the other part might by an equal number
surpass one of the extremes, and by an equal number be sur¬
passed by the other. But as from hence sesquialter, sesquitertian,
and sesquioctave intervals were produced, from those bonds in
the first spaces, he filled with a sesquioctave interval all the

speaking concerning the Titans; just in the same manner as Timreus
divides the soul into seven parts. And, perhaps, when Timarns says that soul
is extended through the whole world, he reminds us of the Orphic Titanic
division, through which not only the soul is spread round the universe like
a veil, but is also extended through every part of it. With great propriety,
therefore, docs Plato call that essence impartible which is proximately placed
above soul, following the Orphic fables, and wishing, as it were, to be an
interpreter of what is said in the mysteries.

123

sesquitertian parts, at the same time leaving a part 1 of each
of these. And then again the interval of this part being assumed,
a comparison is from thence obtained in terms of number to
number, subsisting between 256 and 243. But now the whole of
that mixture from which these were separated was consumed by
such a section of parts. Hence he then cut the whole of this
composition according to length, and produced two from one;

1 It is well observed here by Proclus, (in Tim.) that from each of the
spheres from which the universe consists there are certain defluxions
which extend as far as to the subterranean regions, and also certain dregs
mingled together, of the elements themselves, possessing much of the
tumultuous, dark and material, but at the same time contributing to the
whole composition and harmony of the world. Plato (says he) placing the
cause of this in the soul of the universe calls it a remainder (Xeihhcx), a
term significant of ultimate subjection.

Proclus further observes, ‘‘that theologists also establish about subter¬
ranean places the powers of the highest Gods; and that Jupiter himself is
represented by them as adorning those places in order to adapt them to
the participation of such mighty Gods. That, if this be the case, we ought
much more to think, concerning the soul of the universe, that it adorns
every thing which appears to have a disordered subsistence, possesses the
cause of its existence, and arranges it in a becoming manner according to
this cause. For, how can it govern the universe, or conduct all things
according to intellect, unless it orderly disposes that which is disordered,
and co-harmonizes things last with the one life of the world? If also the
causes of these presubsist in the demiurgus, as Orpheus says, what wonder
is it that the whole soul which possesses all such things in a manner adapted
to itself, as a divine intellect possesses demiurgically, should also compre¬
hend the cause of things last in the world, and of that which is as it were
the sediment of wholes? For soul prior to the apparent and sensible com¬
prehends an unapparent world/*

Proclus concludes with observing, that the whole number of the essential
monads in the soul is 105,947*; the soul thus proceeding according to all
the orders of numbers. For it proceeds decadically indeed, that it may be¬
come the mundane soul; since the decad is the number of the world: but
pentadically, that it may be converted to itself; for the pentad is self-
convertive. It also proceeds enneadically (or according to the number 9), that
it may not only connect the universe monadically, but may proceed to the
* In the original huqkxSes 6exci, x i ^ ia & e S kbyte, ExaxovxaSEg xsaaaQEs;
but from what Proclus immediately after observes, it is evident that
instead of £xaxovxa5Eg TEOoaQEq we should read ewEaxovxafiEg
TEaoaQaxovTEs.

124

and adapted middle to middle, like the form of the letter X.
Afterwards he bent them into a circle, connecting them, both
with themselves and with each other, in such a manner that
their extremities might be combined in one directly opposite
to the point of their mutual intersection; and externally com¬
prehended them in a motion revolving according to sameness,
and in that which is perpetually the same. And besides this, he
made one of the circles external, but the other internal; and
denominated the local motion of the exterior circle, the motion
of that nature which subsists according to sameness; but that
of the interior one, the motion of the nature subsisting accord¬
ing to difference. He likewise caused the circle partaking of
sameness to revolve laterally towards the right hand; but that
which partakes of difference diametrically towards the left. But
he conferred dominion on the circulation of that which is same
and similar: for he suffered this alone to remain undivided. But
as to the interior circle, when he had divided it six times, and
had produced seven unequal circles, each according to the
interval of the double and triple; as each of them are three, he
ordered the circles to proceed in a course contrary to each other:
—and three of the seven interior circles he commanded to revolve
with a similar swiftness; but the remaining four with a motion
dissimilar to each other, and to the former three; yet so as not
to desert order and proportion in their circulations.

After, therefore, the whole composition of the soul was com¬
pleted according to the intention of its artificer, in the next
place he fabricated within soul the whole of a corporeal nature;

last of things after departing from the monad: tetradically, as collecting the
quadripartite division of things into one, and hebdomadically (or according
to the number 7), as converting all things to the monad, to which the
hebdomad is alone referred, this number being motherless and masculine.
And the whole of this number is indeed in the soul of the world totally,
viz. has a total subsistence; but in divine souls, as energizing towards the
mundane soul, it is contained totally and partially. In demoniacal souls,
as energizing yet more partially, it subsists on the contrary partially and
totally; and in human souls partially and gnostically alone.

*25

and, conciliating middle with middle, he aptly harmonized them
together. But soul 1 being every way extended from the middle
to the very extremities of the universe, and investing it exter¬
nally in a circle, at the same time herself revolving 2 within
herself, gave rise to the divine commencement of an unceasing
and wise life, through the whole of time. And, indeed, the body of
the universe was generated visible; but soul is invisible, par¬
ticipating of a rational energy and harmony 3 , and subsisting
as the best of generated natures, through its artificer, who is the
best of intelligible and perpetual beings. Since, therefore, soul
was composed from the mixture of the three parts same, different,
and essence, and was distributed and bound according to analogy,
herself at the same time returning by a circular energy towards
herself; hence, when she touches 4 upon any thing endued with

1 Soul proceeding supernally as far as to the last recesses of the earth,
and illuminating all things with the light of life, the world being converted
to it, becomes animated from its extremities, and also according to its
middle, and the whole of its interval. It also externally enjoys the intel¬
lectual illumination of soul. Hence soul is said to obtain the middle of the
universe, as depositing in it its powers, and a symbol of its proper presence.
It is also said to extend itself to the extremities of heaven, as vivifying it
on all sides; and to invest the universe as with a veil, as possessing powers
exempt from divisible bulks.

2 Plato here evidently evinces, that the conversion of the soul to herself
is a knowledge of herself, of every thing which she contains, and of every
thing prior to and proceeding from her. For all knowledge may be said to
be a conversion and adaptation to that which is known; and hence truth
is an harmonious conjunction of that which knows with the object of
knowledge. Conversion, however, being twofold, one as to the good, and
the other as to being, the vital conversion of all things is directed to the
good, and the gnostic to being.

3 Harmony has a threefold subsistence; for it is either harmony itself,
i. e. ideal harmony in a divine intellect; or that which is first harmonized,
and is such according to the whole of itself; or that which is secondarily
harmonized, and partly participates of harmony. The first of these must
be assigned to intellect, the second to soul, and the third to body.

4 Plato calls the gnostic motions of the soul touchings, indicating by this
their immediate apprehension of the objects of knowledge, and their
impartible communion with them. Since, however, one of the circles, viz.

126

a dissipated essence, and when upon that which is indivisible,
being moved through the whole of herself, she pronounces
concerning the nature of each—asserts what that is with which
any thing is the same 1 f from what it is different, to what it is
related, where it is situated, how it subsists; and when any thing
of this kind happens either to be or to suffer both in things which
are generated and in such as possess an eternal sameness of

the dianoetic power, knows intelligibles, and the other, i. e. the doxastic
power, sensibles, what is it which says that these objects are different from
each other, and that the one is a paradigm, but the other an image? We
reply, that in the same manner as die common sense knows visibles and
audibles, the former through sight, and the latter through hearing, and,
in consequence of asserting that these are different from each other, must
necessarily have a knowledge of both,—so diis reason of which Plato now
speaks, being different from the two circles, asserts through the whole
soul some things concerning intelligibles, and others concerning sensibles.
For, in as much as the soul is one essence, she possesses this one gnostic
energy, which he calls reason: and hence we simply say that the whole
soul is rational. This reason then is the one knowledge of the soul, which
through the circle of sameness understands an impartible essence, and
through the circle of difference that which is dissipated.

1 The soul of the world, says Proclus (in Tim.) comprehends all sensibles,
together with every thing which they either do or suffer. For, since the
universe is one animal, it sympathizes with itself, so that all generated
natures are parts of the life of the world, as of one drama. Just as if a tragic
poet should compose a drama in which Gods make their appearance, and
heroes and other persons speak, and should permit such players as were
willing, to utter the heroic speeches, or the speeches of other characters,
he at the same time comprehending the one cause of all that is said. Thus
ought we to conceive respecting the whole soul: that giving subsistence
to all the life of the world, this life being one and various, and speaking
like a many-headed animal with all its heads, partly in Grecian and partly
in Barbaric language, it comprehends the causes of all generated natures;
knowing particulars by universals, accidents by essences, and parts by wholes,
but all tilings simply by the divinity which it contains. For a God so far as
a God knows things partial, contrary to nature, and in short all things,
even though you should say matter itself. For every thing, whatever it may
be, is one, so far as it proceeds from the one. The knowledge, therefore, of
all things simply and directly, is divine.

1^7

being. Reason indeed, which is becoming 1 to be true accord¬
ing to sameness, when it is conversant as well with different as
same , evolving itself without voice or sound in that which is
moved by itself; when in this case it subsists about a sensible
nature, and the circle characterized by difference properly re¬
volving, enunciates any circumstance to every part of the soul
with which it is connected; then stable and true opinions and
belief are produced. But when again it evolves itself about that
which is logistic 2 , and the circle of sameness aptly revolving an-

1 This reason is the one power of the essence of the soul, according to
which the soul is one, just as it is twofold according to the same and dif¬
ferent. This reason, therefore, being one, knows according to sameness. For
it does not at one time know the intelligible, and at another time a sensible
nature, like our reason, which is unable to energize about both according
to the same. Plato very properly says of this reason, that it is becoming to
be true (aXrifk'g viYvojxsvog) about intelligibles and sensibles, but is not
absolutely true like intellect, in consequence of its transitive knowledge
according to both these. Hence, by asserting that it knows according to
sameness, he signifies the difference between the knowledge of a divine and
partial soul; but when he says that it is becoming to be true, he indicates
the difference between the knowledge of soul and intellect. You may also
say, that it is becoming to be true, as being transitive in its twofold knowl¬
edges; but that it is true according to the same, as always comprehending
the whole form of every thing which it knows, and not like our reason
evolving every form, but with respect to every thing which it sees behold¬
ing the whole at once. For we see every thing according to a part, and
not according to sameness.

2 It appears from the comment of Proclus on this part, that we should
read Xoviutocov, and not Xoyixov as in all the printed editions of the
Timxus. Proclus also well observes, that by logistic, here, we must under¬
stand the intelligible; for Plato opposes this to the sensible. He adds, that
Plato appears to call the intelligible the logistic, after the same manner as
he afterwards calls the sensible, sensitive, (to ouctOtitov, cucrthiTixov). For
the sensible is motive of sense, and the intelligible of the reasoning of the
soul. After this he observes as follows: “By aptly revolving we must under¬
stand the intellectual, the unimpeded in transition, the circular, and the
consummation of vigour, perfection in intellections, the energizing about
a divine nature, the beneficent, and moving about the intelligible as a
centre;”—“hastening to conjoin yourself with the centre of resounding
light,” says some one of the Gods. By intellect Plato here signifies intellect
according to habit. For intellect is threefold: the first, that which is divine,

128

nounces any particular thing, intellect and science are neces¬
sarily produced in perfection by such an operation. Whoever,
therefore, asserts that this * 1 is ingenerated in any other nature
than soul, asserts every thing rather than the truth.

But when the generating father understood that this generated
resemblance of the eternal Gods 2 moved and lived, he was
delighted with his work, and in consequence of this delight
considered how he might fabricate it still more similar to its
exemplar. Hence, as that is an eternal animal, he endeavoured
to render this universe such, to the utmost of his ability. The
nature indeed of the animal its paradigm is eternal, and this it
is impossible to adapt perfectly to a generated effect. Hence he
determined by a dianoetic energy to produce a certain movable
image of eternity: and thus, while he was adorning and dis-

such as the demiurgic; the second, that which is participated by the soul,
but is at the same time essential and self-perfect; and the third, that which
subsists according to habit, and through which the soul is intellectual.
Science here signifies the first knowledge filled from intelligibles, and which
has an undeviating and immutable subsistence. But it differs from intel*
lect, so far as intellect is beheld in simple projections alone of the soul;
for through this the soul understands at once the whole of every thing which
is the object of intellection. For an energy at once collective is the peculi¬
arity of intellect; but that of science consists in a knowledge from cause;
since the composition and division of forms constitute the idiom of science.

1 By this, says Proclus, we must understand intellect and science. Every
thing, therefore, which is the recipient of intellect and science, of opinion
and faith, is soul. For all the knowledges of the soul are rational and
transitive. And because they are rational, indeed, they are exempt from
irrational powers; but, because they are transitive, they are subordinate
to intellectual knowledge. For, if science and intellect are in intelligibles,
they are not ingenerated in them, as Plato here says they are in the soul.

2 By the eternal Gods here we must not understand, as Proclus well ob¬
serves, the mundane Gods; for Plato does not alone speak of the corporeal
nature of the universe, but also discourses about it as animated, and an
intellectual animal, which comprehends in itself the mundane Gods. We
must understand, therefore, that the world is the resemblance of the in¬
telligible Gods: for it is filled from them with deity, and the progressions
into it of the mundane are as it were certain rivers and illuminations of
the intelligible Gods.

129

tributing the universe, he at the same time formed an eternal
image flowing according to number, of eternity abiding in one;
and which receives from us the appellation of time. But be¬
sides this he fabricated the generation of days 1 and nights, and

1 What day and night, month and year, are, says Proclus, and how these
are said to be parts of time, but was and will be species, and not parts,
requires much discussion and profound consideration. If then we should
say that day is air illuminated by the sun, in the first place, we should speak
of something which takes place in day, and not that which day is; for, when
we say that the day is long or short, we certainly do not predicate an
increase or decrease of the air; and, in the next place, it is difficult to
devise how this will be a part of time. But if we say that day is the temporal
interval according to which the sun proceeds from the east to the west, we
shall perhaps avoid the former objections, but we shall fall into more
impervious difficulties. For whether, surveying this interval itself without
relation to the sun, we say that it is day, how does it happen, since the
same interval is every where according to the same, that day is not every
where? And if we consider this interval in connection with the solar
motion, if it is simply so considered, day will always be in the heavens, and
there will be no night; and how is it possible that a part of time should
not be every where? for night, day, and month, are here clearly said to be
parts of time. But if we connect this interval with the circulation of the sun,
not simply, but assert that day is the portion of the sun’s course from east
to west, but night that portion which is produced by his course from west to
east, the heavens will not possess those nights and days which are said to be
parts of time; and it is also evident that neither will they possess months and
years. But we assert of time, both considered according to the whole of
itself, and every part of its progression, that it is present to the whole
world: for one and the same now is every where the same. It is necessary,
therefore, that day and the other parts of time should be every where the
same, though they are participated partibly, and with divulsion by sensible
fabrications. Assigning, therefore, to these a more principal subsistence,
conformably to the custom of our father*, we must say, that night and day
are demiurgic measures of time, exciting and convolving all the apparent
and unapparent life and motion, and orderly distribution of the inerratic
sphere: for these are the true parts of time, are present after the same
manner to all things, and comprehend the primary cause of apparent day
and night, each of these having a different subsistence in apparent time;
to which also Timieus looking reminds us how time was generated together
with the world. Hence he says in the plural number nights and days, as

* Meaning his preceptor Syrianus, as being his true father, the father
of his soul.

13°

months and years, which had no subsistence prior to the uni¬
verse, but which together with it rose into existence. And all
these, indeed, are the proper parts of time. But the terms it was

also months and years. But these are obvious to all men: for the unapparent
causes of these have a uniform subsistence prior to things multiplied, and
which circulate infinitely. Things immovable also subsist prior to such as
are moved, and intellectual natures are prior to sensibles. Such, therefore,
must be our conceptions of night and day according to their first subsistence.
By month we must understand that truly divine temporal measure which
convolves the lunar sphere, and every termination of the other # circula¬
tion. But year is that which perfects and connects the whole of middle
fabrication, according to which the sun is seen possessing the greatest
strength, and measuring all things in conjunction with time. For neither
day nor night, nor month, is without the sun, nor much more year, nor
any other mundane nature. I do not here speak according to the apparent
fabrication of things alone, for the apparent sun is the cause of these
measures, but also according to that fabrication which is unapparent. For,
ascending higher, we shall find that the more true f sun measures all
things in conjunction with time, being itself in reality time of time, according
to the oracle J of the Gods concerning it. For that Plato not only knew
these apparent parts of time, but also those divine parts to which these
are homonymous, is evident from the tenth book of his Laws. For he there
asserts that we call hours and months divine, as having the same divine
lives, and divine intellects presiding over them, as the universe. But, if
he now speaks about the apparent parts of time, it is by no means wonderful;
because now his design is to physiologize. Let these, therefore, be the parts
of time, of which some are accommodated to the inerratic Gods, others
to the Gods that revolve about the poles of the oblique circle, and others
to other Gods, or attendants of the Gods, or to mortal animals, or the more
sublime or more abject parts of the universe.

But Plato says that was and will be are species and not parts of time, in
the same manner as days and nights, and months and years: for by these he
represents to us those divine orders which give completion to the whole
series of time; and on this account he calls them parts of time. But was and
will be are entirely beheld according to each of these; and hence they are
certain species, not having as it were a peculiar matter; I mean a diurnal
or nocturnal matter, or any other of this kind. If then these are the species
of time which was generated together with the world, there was no genera-

* Viz. of the circulation about the zodiac.

f Viz. the sun considered according to its subsistence in the super¬
mundane order of Gods.

J Viz. one of the Chaldaean Oracles.

and it will be, which express the species of generated time, are
transferred by us to an eternal essence, through oblivion of the
the truth. For we assert of such an essence that it was, is, and
will be; while according to truth the term it is is alone accommo¬
dated to its nature. But we should affirm, that to have been and
to be hereafter are expressions alone accommodated to genera¬
tion, proceeding according to the flux of time: for these parts
of time are certain motions. But that which perpetually subsists
the same and immovable, neither becomes at any time older or
younger; neither has been generated in some period of the past,
nor will be in some future circulation of time; nor receives any
circumstance of being, which generation adapts to natures hur¬
ried away by its impetuous whirl. For all these are nothing more
than species of time imitating eternity, and circularly rolling
itself according to number. Besides this, we likewise frequently
assert that a thing which was generated, is generated: that what
subsists in becoming to be , is in generation; that what will be ,
is to be ; and that non-being is not : no one of which assertions
is accurately true. But perhaps a perfect discussion of these mat¬
ters is not adapted to the present disputation.

But time 1 was generated together with the universe, that being

tion prior to the world. Neither, therefore, was there any motion: for in
every motion there are these species of time, because there are prior and
posterior. But, if there was not motion, neither was there inordinate motion.
In vain, therefore, do the followers of Atticus say, that there was time prior
to the generation of the world, but not subsisting in order: for where time
is there also there is past and future; and where these are, was and will be
must likewise be found. But icas and will be are species of time generated
by the demiurgus: and hence time was not prior to the fabrication of the
world. Proclus after this observes, that was indicates the perfective order
of time, but will be the unfolding, in the same manner as is, the con¬
nective order of time. For time unfolds things which yet are not, connects
things present, and perfects things past, and introduces a boundary to
them adapted to their periods.

1 Plato, says Proclus, asserts that time was generated together with the
universe, animated and endued with intellect, because the world first
participates of time according to soul and according to a corporeal nature.

132

produced together they might together be dissolved, if any disso¬
lution should ever happen to these. And time was generated ac¬
cording to the exemplar of an eternal nature, that this world
might be the most similar possible to such a nature. For its ex¬
emplar is permanent being, through the whole of eternity; but

But when he says, “that, being produced together, they may together be
dissolved, if any dissolution should ever happen to these," he clearly shows
that the universe is unbegotten and incorruptible. For, if it was generated,
it was generated in time; but, if it was generated together with time, it was
not generated in time: for neither is time generated in time, lest there should
be time prior to time. If, therefore, the universe was generated together
with time, it was not generated*: for it is necessary that every thing which
is generated should be posterior to time; but the universe is by no means
posterior to time. Again, if every thing which is dissolved, is dissolved on
a certain time, but time cannot be dissolved in a part of itself, time can
never be dissolved; so that neither will the universe be dissolved, since
it is indissoluble, as long as time is indissoluble. Time also is indissoluble
through the simplicity of its nature, unless some one should denominate
the contrariety which arises through its procession from, and regression to,
the demiurgus, generation and dissolution: for thus also the universe
possesses dissolution and generation according to cause. Just, therefore,
as if some one, wishing to indicate that the circulations of the other nature
are odd in number, should say that the hep tad is consubsistent with them,
that if at any time the heptad should become an even number, those
circulations also may become even, signifying that the circulations will
never be changed into an even number,—after the same manner must we
conceive respecting the all-various indissolubility of the world and of
time, in consequence of time possessing an indissoluble nature. One cause,
therefore, of time being generated together with the universe is, that the
universe may be indissoluble and perpetual; but a second cause is, that it
may become most similar to its paradigm. How, therefore, does the uni¬
verse become more similar to its paradigm animal itself (awro tcoov)
through time? Because, says Plato, as the intelligibles from which animal
itself consists receive all the power of eternity, which is unific, and con¬
nective, and subsists at once, collectively and unitedly, so the world receives
partibly and divisibly all the measured motion of time; through which it
was, and is, and will be, not possessing these three in the whole of time,
but each in a part of time.

* Viz. it was not generated according to the usual acceptation of the
word generated.

f Viz. the circulations about the zodiac.

133

the universe alone was generated, is, and will be, through the
whole of time. After this manner, therefore, and from such a
dianoetic energy of Divinity about the generation of time \ that
he might give birth to its flowing subsistence, he generated the
sun and moon, and the five other stars, which are denominated
planets, for the purpose of distinguishing and guarding the num¬
bers of time. But the Divinity, as soon as he had produced the
bodies of these stars, placed them, being seven in number, in the
seven circulations formed by the revolution of the nature dis¬
tinguished by difference . The moon, indeed, he fixed in the first
circulation about the earth; the sun in the second above the
earth; the star called Lucifer 2 , and that which is sacred to Mer¬
cury, in circulations revolving with a swiftness equal to the sun,
to whom at the same time they are allotted a contrary power; in
consequence of which, these stars, the Sun, Lucifer, and Mercury,
mutually comprehend and are mutually comprehended by each

1 The one monad itself of time (says Proclus) is an all-perfect number;
but from this monad there is also in each of the celestial revolutions a proper
measure, Saturnian, or Jovian, or Lunar, receiving its peculiarity from the
soul and motive deity contained in each of the spheres. For one number
is adapted to the sun, another to a horse, and another to a plant; but the
mundane number is common to all that the world contains. Hence also
we say that the same time is every where. For the world has one life, in
the same manner as it has one nature, and one intellect. But if it has one
life, it has also one temporal measure. And as, with respect to the parts
which it contains, each lives according to the nature which subsists in the
world as a whole, so also it is measured according to total time; and this is
the common measure of all things. But after this monad there is a triad,
of which the summit is the measure of the first circulation, viz. of the motion
of the inerratic sphere; but the middle is the measure of the revolutions
of the planets, (for there is one life, one period, and one time, restoring
things to their pristine condition, of all the planets as of one animal), and
the third is the measure of the circular motion in generation. For through
this the mutations of the elements, and the opposition and regeneration
of the tilings moved, again receive their subsistence. But, after this triad,
time proceeds according to different numbers, measuring wholes, and bound¬
ing all things by appropriate measures.

2 Venus.

»34

other in a similar manner. But with respect to the other 1 stars,
if any one should think proper to investigate their circulations,
and through what causes they are established, the labour would
be greater than that of the discourse itself, for the sake of which
they were introduced. An accurate discussion, therefore, of these
particulars may, perhaps, be undertaken by us hereafter, if con¬
venient leisure should fall to our lot.

When, therefore, each of the natures necessary to a joint
fabrication of time had obtained a local motion adapted to its
condition, and their bodies became animals through the con¬
necting power of vital bonds, they then learned their prescribed
order; that according to the oblique revolution of the circle of
difference, which moves in subjection to the circle of sameness,
these orbs should, by their revolution, partly form a more ample

1 By the other stars, says Proclus, Plato means Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn;
and by the word established, he signifies the perpetual and incorruptible
fabrication of them. After this Proclus observes, that it is here requisite to
call to mind the order of all the mundane spheres, which is as follows: —
The inerratic sphere ranks as a monad, being the cause to all mundane
natures of an invariable subsistence. But of the triad under this monad,
viz. Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, the first is the cause of connected comprehension,
the second of symmetry, and the third of separation. And again, the moon
is a monad, being the cause of all generation and corruption; but the
triad consists from the elements * in generation under the moon; and the
planets whose course is equal f subsist between these. And the Sun, indeed,
unfolds truth into light, Venus beauty, and Mercury the symmetry of reasons,
or the productive principles of nature. Or, you may say that the Moon is the
cause of nature to mortals, she being the self-conspicuous image of fontal J
nature. But the Sun is the demiurgus of every thing sensible, since he is
also the cause of seeing and being seen. Mercury is the cause of the motions
of the phantasy; for the sun gives subsistence to the phantastic essence .
Venus is the cause of the appetites of desire; and Mars of all natural irascible
motions. Jupiter is the common cause of all vital, and Saturn of all gnostic
powers. For all the irrational forms are divided into these, and the causes
of these are comprehended in the celestial spheres.

* Viz. from fire, air, and water.

•{•Viz. Mercury and Venus subsist between the triad Saturn, Jupiter,
Mars, and the Moon.

X Viz. of Nature, considered as subsisting in its divine cause Rhea.

*35

and partly a more contracted circle; and that the orb which
formed a lesser circle should revolve swifter; but that which pro¬
duced a greater, more slow:—but that in consequence of the
motion of the circle of sameness, the orbs which circulate most
swiftly, comprehending other orbs as they revolve, should them¬
selves appear to be comprehended by the revolution of the more
slow. But all these circles revolve with a spiral motion, because
they are agitated at one and the same time in two contrary direc¬
tions: and in consequence of this, the sphere endued with the
slowest revolution is nearest to that to which its course is retro¬
grade, and which is the swiftest of all. And that these circles
might possess a certain conspicuous measure of slowness and
swiftness with reference to each other, and that the motion of
the eight circulations might be manifest, the Divinity enkindled
a light which we now denominate the Sun x , in the second revo-

1 Plato, says Proclus, here delivers the one and the leading cause of
apparent time. For, as the demiurgus gives subsistence to unapparent, so
the sun to apparent time, which measures the motion of bodies: for the
sun, through light, leads into the apparent every temporal interval, bounds
all periods, and exhibits the measures of restorations to a pristine state.
Very properly, therefore, does Plato call the sun a conspicuous measure ,
as especially unfolding the progression * of time into the universe, according
to number. For it has a more accurate period than the five planets, being
freed from advancing and receding motions, and also revolves more ac¬
curately than the moon, in consequence of always bounding its progres¬
sions to the north and south, according to the same sign. But, if it has
a more accurate period, it is deservedly said to be the measure of measures,
and to know from itself the periodic measures of the other planets, the
ratios which they contain, and the swiftness of some of them compared
with others. It also imitates in a greater degree than the other planets the
permanency of eternity, through perpetually revolving after the same
invariable manner. Such then is its difference with respect to the planets.

But the sun is after another manner a more conspicuous measure of the
inerratic sphere; since this sphere also has a certain appropriate measure,
and an appropriate interval, and one invariable number of its proper
motion. The solar light, however, makes this measure, and all the evolution
of apparent time, conspicuous and known. Hence Plato says "that these
circles might possess a certain conspicuous measure:" for though there is

* In the original jtEQioSov, but the sense requires we should read jtqooSov.

136

lution from the earth; that the heavens might become eminently
apparent to all things, and that such animals might participate
of number as are adapted to its participation, receiving numerical
information from the revolution of a nature similar and the

a certain measure in the other stars, yet it is not conspicuous. But the sun
unfolds into light both other intelligibles and time itself. You must not,
however, say, that the solar light was therefore generated for the sake of
measuring; for how is it possible that wholes can have a subsistence for
the sake of parts, governing natures for the sake of the governed, and things
eternal for the sake of such as are corruptible? But we should rather say
that light manifests total time, possessing an unfolding power, and calls
forth its supermundane monad, and one measure, to a mensuration of the
periods of bodies. It is the light of the sun, therefore, which makes every
thing that is moved to have a conspicuous measure. And this, indeed, is
its total good. But after wholes it also secondarily benefits parts; for it
gives the generation of number and a measure to such things as are fit
participants of these. For irrational natures are destitute of these; but the
genera of daemons follow the periods of the Gods, and men become par¬
takers of number and measure. The communications, therefore, of the sun,
supernally beginning from wholes, descend as far as to parts, conferring
good through light. And if, commencing from things apparent, you are
willing to speak of things unapparent, the sun illuminates the whole world,
makes the corporeal nature of it divine, and the whole of it to be totally
filled with life. It also leads souls through undefiled light, and imparts to
them an undefiled and elevating power, and by its rays governs the world.
It likewise fills souls with empyrean fruits. For the order of the sun pro¬
ceeds supernally from supermundane natures; and hence Plato does not
here give subsistence to its light from a certain place, but says that the demi-
urgus enkindled it, as forming this sphere from his own essence, and
emitting from the solar fountain a divulsed and nascent life; which also
theologists assert concerning the supermundane firmaments. On this ac¬
count, also, Plato appears to me to deliver a twofold generation of the
sun; one together with the seven governors of the world, when he fashions
their bodies and places them in their revolving spheres; but the other the
enkindling of its light, according to which he imparts to it supermundane
power. For it is one thing to generate itself by itself, the whole bulk of the
sun, and another to generate it together with a governing idiom, through
which it is called the king of every thing visible, and is established as
analogous to the one fountain of good. For, as the good itself, being better
than the intelligible, illuminates both intellect and the intelligible, so the
sun, being better than the visible essence, illuminates sight, and whatever
is visible. But if the sun is above the visible essence, it will have a super-

*37

same. From hence, therefore, night and day arose; and through
these revolving bodies the period of one most wise circulation
was produced.

And month indeed was generated, when the moon having run

mundane nature: for the world is visible and tangible, and possesses a body.
We must, therefore, survey the sun in a twofold respect; as one of the
seven mundane governors, and as the leader of wholes, as mundane and
as supermundane, according to which also he illuminates with divine light.
For, as the good generates truth, which deifies both the intelligible and
intellectual orders; as Phanes, according to Orpheus, emits intelligible light,
which fills all the intellectual Gods with intelligence; and as Jupiter en¬
kindles an intellectual and demiurgic light in all supermundane natures,
so the sun illuminates every thing visible through this undefiled light.
But that which illuminates is always in an order more elevated than the
things which are illuminated. For neither is the good intelligible, nor is
Phanes intellectual, nor Jupiter supermundane. From this reasoning, there¬
fore, the sun being supermundane emits the fountains of light. And the
most mystic of discourses place the wholeness of the sun in the super¬
mundane order; for there a solar world and total light subsist, as the oracles
of the Chaldaians say, and as I am persuaded. And thus much concerning
these particulars.

Proclus afterwards, near the end of his commentary on this part, ob¬
serves, that if by the heavens here we understand that which is moved in
a circle, the sun does not illuminate the whole of this: for there are shadows
there, through the obscurations of the stars and the moon. But nothing in
the world is pure from shadow, (as neither is there any thing mundane
pure from matter, supermundane natures alone being without shadow and
immaterial,) except the sun. Hence, the sun is truly shadowless and with¬
out generation, every thing else receiving at different times different illumina¬
tive additions. Why, then, some one may say, was not the light of the sun
enkindled in the first of the periods from the earth? Because, I reply, the
effulgence of the sun is of itself incommensurate with generation; but the
moon, existing as a medium, and first receiving his light, renders it more
commensurate with generation. For, as Aristotle says, the moon is, as il:
were, a lesser sun. And it is requisite that what is proximately above gener
ation should not be the most splendid and luminous. For it is not lawful
that a thing of this kind should approach to that which is dark; but what
is proximate to the darkness of generation must necessarily be luminous;
in a secondary degree, always possessing, indeed, its proper light, but evinc¬
ing a mutation in its participation of a more excellent light. It is likewise
requisite that it should exhibit this mutation in an orderly manner, that

138

through her circle passed into conjunction with the sun. But
year, when the sun had completely wandered round his orb. As
to the periods of the other stars, they are not understood except
by a very few of mankind; nor do the multitude distinguish
them by any peculiar appellation; nor do they measure them
with relation to each other, regarding the numbers adapted to
this purpose. Hence, it may be said, they are ignorant that the
wanderings of these bodies are in reality time; as these wander¬
ings are endued with an infinite multitude, and an admirable
variety of motions. But it is easy to conceive, that a perfect
number of time will then accomplish a perfect year, when the
eight circulations concurring in their courses with each other
become bounded by the same extremity; being at the same time
measured by the circle subsisting according to sameness. But
the stars, whose revolutions are attended with a procession
through the heavens, were generated, that the whole of this
visible animal the universe might become most similar to the
most perfect intelligible animal from an imitation of a per¬
petual nature. And indeed the artificer fabricated other forms,
as far as to the generation of time, according to the similitude of
the world’s exemplar.

But as the universe did not yet contain all animals in its capa¬
cious receptacle, in this respect it was dissimilar to its exemplar.
Its artificer, therefore, supplied this defect by impressing it with
forms, according to the nature of its paradigm. Whatever ideas,
therefore, intellect perceived by the dianoetic energy in animal
itself, such and so many he conceived it necessary for the universe

through this mutation it may be the paradigm of that very mutable nature
which matter introduces to generated things.

But that the stars, and all heaven, receive light from the sun, may be
easily perceived. For that which is common in many things derives its
subsistence from one cause, which is either exempt or coordinate; and the
coordinate cause is that which first participates of that form. But that first
participates in which this form especially subsists the first. If, therefore,
light especially subsists in the sun, the sun will be the first light, and from
this the light in other things will be derived.

139

to contain. But these ideas are four: One, the celestial genus of
Gods; another, winged and air-wandering; a third, the aquatic
form; and a fourth, that which is pedestrial and terrene. The
idea, therefore, of that which is divine, or the inerratic sphere,
he for the most part fabricated from fire, that it might be most
splendid and beautiful to behold. And as he meant to assimilate
it to the universe, he rendered it circular; placed it in the wisdom
of the best nature; ordered it to become the attendant of that
which is best; and gave it a circular distribution about the
heavens, that it might be a true world , adorned with a fair variety
in its every part. But he adapted to each of the divine bodies
two motions; one by which they might revolve in same according
to same, by always cogitating the same things in themselves about
same; the other through which they might be led with an ad¬
vancing motion from the dominion of the same and similar cir¬
culation. He likewise rendered them immovable and stable as
to the other five motions, that each of them might become in an
eminent degree the best. And on this account such of the stars
as are inerratic were generated, which are divine animals; and,
in consequence of this, always abide revolving in that which is
same . But, the stars, which both revolve and at the same time
wander in the manner we have described above, were produced
next to these. But he fabricated the earth the common nourisher
of our existence; which being conglobed about the pole extended
through the universe, is the guardian and artificer of night and
day, and is the first and most ancient of the Gods which are gen¬
erated within the heavens. But the harmonious progressions of
these divinities, their concursions with each other, the revolu¬
tions and advancing motions of their circles, how they are situ¬
ated with relation to each other in their conjunctions and oppo¬
sitions, whether direct among themselves or retrograde, at what:
times and in what manner they become concealed, and, again
emerging to our view, cause terror, and exhibit tokens of future
events to such as are able to discover their signification—of all
this to attempt an explanation, without inspecting the re--

140

semblances of these divinities, would be a fruitless employment.
But of this enough; and let this be the end of our discourse con¬
cerning the nature of the visible and generated Gods.

But to speak concerning the other daemons and to know their

1 Plato here calls the sublunary Gods who proximately preside over, and
orderly distribute, the realms of generation, daemons; for a God who
proximately presides over any thing is a dxmon according to analogy.

Proclus, in speaking concerning daemons who fill up all the middle space
between Gods and men, observes as follows:—“There is a triad which con¬
joins our souls with the Gods, proceeding analogous to the three * primary
causes of things, though Plato is accustomed to call the whole of it
demoniacal. For the angelic preserves an analogy to the intelligible, which
first unfolds itself into light from the arcane and occult fountain of things;
on which account it also unfolds the Gods, and announces their occult
nature. The dxmoniacal is analogous to infinite life; and hence it proceeds
every where according to many orders, and possesses various species and a
multitude of forms. But the heroic subsists according to intellect and a
convertive energy; and hence it is the inspective guardian of purification,
and a magnificently operating life. Again, the angelic proceeds according
to the intellectual life of the demiurgus; and hence it also is essentially
intellectual, and interprets and transmits a divine intellect to sec¬
ondary natures. The dacmoniacal governs according to the demiurgic
providence and nature of wholes, and rightly gives completion to the
order of all the world. But the heroic subsists according to a provi¬
dence convertive of all these. Hence this genus is sublime, elevates souls on
high, and is the cause of the grand and robust. And such are the triple
genera which are suspended from the Gods, viz. from the celestial Divini¬
ties, and from the inspective guardians of generation. For about each of
these Gods there is an appropriate number of angels, daemons, and heroes:
for each is the leader of a multitude which receives the form of its ruling
Deity. And on this account the angels, dxmons, and heroes of the celestial
Gods are celestial; of the Gods that preside over generation, they are
generative; of those that elevate souls on high, they are anagogic; of
those that are immutable, they are immutable; and so on. And again,
in those Gods of an anagogic characteristic, the angels, daemons, and
heroes of the Saturnian Gods are saturnine, but those of the Solar
Gods are solar. And in those that are vivific, the attendants of the Lunar
Deities are lunar, and of the Mercurial Gods, mercurial: for they derive

• Viz. Being, life, and intellect, which considered according to their
first subsistence form the intelligible triad, or the first procession
from the ineffable principle of things. See the Parmenides.

141

generation, is a talk beyond our ability to perform. It is, there¬
fore, necessary in this case to believe in ancient men; who being
the progeny of the Gods, as they themselves assert, must have a
clear knowledge of their parents. It is impossible, therefore, not
to believe in the children of the Gods, though they should speak
without probable and necessary arguments: but as they declare
that their narrations are about affairs to which they are naturally
allied, it is proper that, complying with the law, we should assent
to their tradition. In this manner, then, according to them, the
generation of these Gods is to be described:

That Ocean and Tethys were the progeny of heaven and earth.
That from hence Phorcys, Saturn, and Rhea, and such as subsist
together with these, were produced. That from Saturn and
Rhea, Jupiter, Juno, and all such as we know are called the
brethren of these descended. And lastly, others which are re-

their appellations from the Deities from which they are suspended, as being-
continuous with them, and receiving one idea with remission. And why
is this wonderful, since partial souls also, knowing their presiding and
leading Gods, call themselves by their names? Or, whence did the /Escula
piuses, the Bacchuses, and the Dioscuri receive their appellations? As, there¬
fore, in the celestial Gods, so also in those that preside over generation,
it is requisite to survey about each of them a coordinate, angelic, dacmoniacal,
and heroic multitude; the number suspended from each bearing the
name of its monad, so that there is a celestial God, daemon, and hero. With
respect to Earth, also, Ocean, and Tethys, it is requisite to consider that
these proceed into all orders, and in a similar manner other Gods. For
there is a Jovian, Junonian, and Saturnian multitude, which is denominated
through the same name of life. Nor is there any thing absurd in this,
since we call man both intelligible and sensible, though the restoration to
their pristine condition is in these more abundant. And thus much in
common concerning the generation-producing Gods and daemons, that,
conjoined with the Gods, we may also survey the discourse about daemons:
for Plato comprehends each of the genera in the same names. And he
seems to call the same powers both daemons and Gods on this account,
that we may understand that the dacmoniacal genus is suspended at the
same time together with these Gods, and that we may also adapt the names
as to Gods. This he also does in other places, indicating the every way
extended nature of the theory, and the eye of science surveying all things
together and in connection.”

142

ported to be the progeny of these. When, therefore, all such
Gods as visibly revolve, and all such as become apparent when
they please, were generated, the Artificer of the universe thus
addressed them: “Gods of Gods *, of whom I am the demiurgus

1 The scope of this speech, says Proclus, is, as we have said, to insert demi¬
urgic power and providence in the mundane genera of Gods, to lead them
forth to the generation of the remaining kinds of animals, and to place
them over mortals, analogously to the father of wholes over the one orderly
distribution of the universe. For it is necessary that some things should
be primarily generated by the demiurgic monad, and others through other
media; the demiurgus, indeed, producing all things from himself, at once
and eternally, but the things produced in order, and first proceeding from
him, producing, together with him, the natures posterior to themselves.
Thus, for instance, the celestial produce sublunary Gods, and these generate
mortal animals; the demiurgus at the same time fabricating these in
conjunction with the celestial and sublunary Divinities. For in speaking
he understands all things, and by understanding all things he also makes
the mortal genera of animals; these requiring another proximate gener¬
ating cause, so far as they are mortal, and through this receiving a pro¬
gression into being. But the character of the words is enthusiastic, shining
with intellectual intuitions, pure and venerable as being perfected by the
father of the Gods, differing from and transcending human conceptions,
delicate, and at the same time terrific, full of grace and beauty—at once
concise and perfectly accurate. Plato, therefore, particularly studies these
things in the imitations of divine speeches; as he also evinces in the
Republic, when he represents the Muses speaking sublimely, and the
prophet ascending to a lofty seat. He also adorns both these speeches
with conciseness and venerableness, employing the accurate powers of
colons, directly shadowing forth divine intellections through such a form
of words. But in the words before us he omits no transcendency either of
the grand and robust in the sentences and the names adapted to these
devices, or of magnitude in the conceptions and the figures which give
completion to this idea. Besides this, also, much distinction and purity,
the unfolding of truth, and the illustrious prerogatives of beauty, are
mingled with the idea of magnitude, this being especially adapted to the
subject things, to the speaker, and to the hearers. For the objects of this
speech are, the perfection of the universe, an assimilation to all-perfect
animal, and the generation of all mortal animals; the maker of all things
at the same time presubsisting and adorning all things, through exempt
transcendency, but the secondary fabricators adding what was wanting to
the formation of the universe. All, therefore, being great and divine, as well
the persons as the things, and shining with beauty and a distinction from

143

and father, whatever is generated by me is indissoluble, such
being my will in its fabrication. Indeed every thing which is
bound is dissoluble; but to be willing to dissolve that which is
beautifully harmonized, and well composed, is the property of

each other, Plato has employed words adapted to the form of the speech.

Homer also, when energizing enthusiastically, represents Jupiter speak¬
ing, converting to himself the twofold coordinations of Gods, becoming
Jumself, as it were, the centre of all the divine genera in the world, and
making all things obedient to his intellection. But at one time he conjoins
the multitude of Gods with himself without a medium, and at another
through Themis as the medium.

But Jove to Themis gives command to call

The Gods to council.

This Goddess pervading every where collects the divine number, and con¬
verts it to the demiurgic monad. For the Gods are both separate from
mundane affairs, and eternally provide for all things, being at the same
time exempt from them through the highest transcendency, and extending
their providence every where. For their unmingled nature is not without
providential energy, nor is their providence mingled with matter.
Through transcendency of power they are not filled with the subjects of
their government, and, through beneficent will, they make all things
similar to themselves; in permanently abiding, proceeding, and in being
separated from all things, being similarly present to all things. Since, there¬
fore, the Gods that govern the world, and the daemons the attendants of
these, receive after this manner unmingled purity and providential
administration from their father; at one time he converts them to himself
without a medium, and illuminates them with a separate, unmingled, and
pure form of life. Whence also I think he orders them to be separated from
all things, to remain exempt in Olympus, and neither convert themselves
to Greeks nor Barbarians; which is just the same as to say, that they must
transcend the twofold orders of mundane natures, and abide immutably
in undefiled intellection. But at another time he converts them to a provi¬
dential attention to secondary natures, through Themis, and calls upon
them to direct the mundane battle, and excites different Gods to different
works. These Divinities, therefore, especially require the assistance of
Themis, who contains in herself the divine laws according to which provi¬
dence is intimately connected with wholes. Homer, therefore, divinely
delivers twofold speeches, accompanying the twofold energies of Jupiter;
but Plato through this one speech comprehends those twofold modes of
discourse. For the demiurgus renders the Gods unminglcd with secondary
natures, and causes them to provide for, and give existence to, mortals.

144

an evil nature. Hence, so far as you are generated, you are not
immortal, nor in every respect indissoluble: yet you shall never
be dissolved, nor become subject to the fatality of death; my will
being a much greater and more excellent bond than the vital

But he orders them to fabricate in imitation of himself: and in an injunc¬
tion of this kind both these are comprehended, viz. the unmingled through
the imitation of the father, for he is separate, being exempt from mundane
wholes; but providential energy, through the command to fabricate, nourish
and increase mortal natures. Or rather, we may survey both in each; for
in imitating the demiurgus they provide for secondary natures, as he does
for the immortals; and in fabricating they are separate from the things
fabricated. For every demiurgic cause is exempt from the things generated
by it; but that which is mingled with and filled from them is imbecil and
inefficacious, and is unable to adorn and fabricate them. And thus much
in common respecting the whole of the speech.

Let us then, in the first place, consider what we are to understand by
“Gods of Gods," and what power it possesses: for that this invocation is
collective and convertive of multitude to its monad, that it calls upwards
the natures which have proceeded to the one fabricator of them, and
inserts a boundary and divine measure in them, is clear to those who are
not entirely unacquainted with such-like discourses. But how those that
are allotted the world by their father are called Gods of Gods, and accord¬
ing to what conception, cannot easily be indicated to the many; for there is
an unfolding of one divine intelligence in these names. Proclus then
proceeds to relate the explanations given by others of these words; which
having rejected as erroneous, he very properly, in my opinion, adopts the
following, which is that of his preceptor, the great Syrianus. All the mun¬
dane Gods are not simply Gods, but they are wholly Gods which participate:
for there is in them that which is separate, unapparent, and supermundane,
and also that which is the apparent image of them, and has an orderly
establishment in the world. And that, indeed, which is unapparent in them
is primarily a God, this being undistributed and one; but this vehicle which
is suspended from their unapparent essence is secondarily a God. For if,
with respect to us, man is twofold, one inward, according to the soul, the
other apparent, which we see, much more must both these be asserted of
the Gods; since Divinity also is twofold, one unapparent and the other
apparent. This being the case, we must say that “Gods of Gods" is addressed
to all the mundane Divinities, in whom there is a connection of unapparent
with apparent Gods; for they are Gods that participate. In short, since
twofold orders are produced by the demiurgus, some being supermundane
and others mundane, and some being without and others with participa¬
tion,—if the demiurgus now addressed the supermundane orders, he would

145

connectives with which you were bound at the commencement
of your generation. Learn, therefore, what I now say to you in¬
dicating my desire. Three genera of mortals yet remain to be
produced. Without tire generation of these, therefore, the uni¬
verse will be imperfect; for it will not contain every kind of
animal in its spacious extent. But it ought to contain them, that
it may become sufficiently perfect. Yet if these are generated,
and participate of life through me, they will become equal to
the Gods. That mortal natures, therefore, may subsist, and that
the universe may be truly all, convert yourselves, according to
your nature, to the fabrication of animals, imitating the power
which I employed in your generation. And whatever among
these is of such a nature as to deserve the same appellation with
immortals, which obtains sovereignty in these, and willingly
pursues justice, and reverences you—of this I myself will deliver
the seed and beginning: it is your business to accomplish the
rest; to weave * 1 together the mortal and immortal nature; by th is

have alone said to them, “Gods:" for they are without participation, are
separate and unapparent:—but since the speech is to the mundane Gods,
he calls them Gods of Gods, as being participated by other apparent
Divinities. In these also daemons are comprehended; for they also are
Gods, as to their order with respect to the Gods, whose idiom they in-
divisibly participate. Thus also Plato, in the Phaedrus, when he calls the
twelve Gods the leaders of daemons, at the same time denominates all the
attendants of the Divinities Gods, adding, “and this is the life of the Gods."
All these, therefore, are Gods of Gods, as possessing the apparent connected
with the unapparent, and the mundane with the supermundane.

1 It is well observed here by Proclus, that the animal spirit (to Jtvsuiia)
comprehends the summits of the irrational life, which summits subsist
eternally with the vehicle of the soul, as being produced by the demi-
urgus; but that these, being extended and distributed, make this life which
the junior Gods weave together, being indeed mortal, because the soul
must necessarily lay aside this distribution, when, being restored to her
pristine state, she obtains purification, but subsisting for a much longer
time than the life of this body; and that, on this account, the soul also in
Hades chooses a life of this kind. For, in consequence of verging to a
corporeal nature, she receives this mortal life from the junior Gods. If
these things then be admitted, the demiurgus gives subsistence to the

146

means fabricating and generating animals, causing them to in-
crease by supplying them with aliment, and receiving them back
again when dissolved by corruption.”

Thus spoke the demiurgus; and again into the same crater * 1 ,
in which mingling he had tempered the soul of the universe, h e
poured mingling the remainder 2 of the former mixture: in a

summit of the irrational life, but does not produce this life; since, giving
subsistence to daemons, he certainly also produces the irrational life which
they contain, but not this life which the junior Gods weave together in us;
for this is alone adapted to souls falling into generation. The mundane
Gods, therefore, illuminate their depending vehicles with rational lives;
for they possess intellectual souls. But those daemons who are properly
defined according to reason use irrational powers, which they keep in sub¬
jection; but our souls much more possess a life in the vehicle, which is irra¬
tional with relation to them. It superabounds however by receiving another
irrational life, which is an apostacy from that life in the vehicle which was
woven by the junior Gods. All that is immortal, therefore, which souls
possess according to an imitation of wholes, but the addition of the second¬
ary life is mortal. If, therefore, in the summit of the irrational life, there is
one impassive sense, this in the pneumatic vehicle will generate one pas¬
sive sense; and this latter will produce in the shelly body many and passive
senses. The orectic or appetitive power, also, in this summit, will produce
many orectic powers in the spirit, possessing something separate from the
shelly body, and capable of being disciplined; and these will produce in
the body ultimate and material appetitive powers.

1 Viz. the vivific Goddess Juno.

2 It is well observed here by Proclus, that souls possess essential differences,
and not differences according to energies only. For, says he, some souls
look to total and others to partial intellects; and some employ undefilcd
intellections, but others at times depart from the contemplation of true
beings. Some perpetually fabricate and adorn wholes, but others only
sometimes revolve with the Gods. And some always move and govern fate,
but others sometimes subsist under the dominion of fate, and are subject
to its laws. Some are the leaders to intelligible essence, and others are
sometimes allotted the order of those that follow. Some are divine only,
and others are transferred into a different order, demoniacal, heroical,
human. Some employ horses that are good, but others such as are mingled
from good and evil. And some possess that life alone which they received
from the one fabrication of things, but others the mortal form of life,
which was woven to their nature by the junior Gods. Some energize
according to all their powers, but others at different times draw forth dif-

>47

certain respect indeed after the same manneryet not similarly
incorruptible according to the same, but deficient from the first
in a second and third degree. And having thus composed the
universe, he distributed souls equal in number to the stars, in-

ferent lives. By no means, therefore, do our souls possess the same essence
with divinity: for the rational nature is different in the two, being in the
Gods intellectual, but in our souls mingled with the irrational; and in the
middle genera it is defined according to their middle subsistence. In like
manner, with respect to every thing else, such as reasons, the form of life,
intelligence and time, these subsist divinely in divine souls, but in a human
manner in ours.

Proclus also further observes, that the common definition of all souls is
as follows: Soul is an essence subsisting between true essence and genera¬
tion, being mingled from middle genera, divided into essential number,
bound with all media, diatonically harmonized, living one and a twofold
life, and being gnostic in one and a twofold manner.

1 TimaLUS, says Proclus, by these words indicates the similitude, subjection
and different progression of partial to total souls. For he not only describes
their difference together with their alliance, according to first and second
demiurgic energy, nor alone according to their union with and separation
from the crater of life, nor yet alone according to excess or defect of genera,
but also according to the mode of mixture, which is the same, and yet not
the same. For neither is the temperament of the genera similar, nor the
unmingling of difference; since this is more abundant in partial souls.
Hence, of the horses in these, one is good, but the other contrary, and
consisting from contraries, as it is said in the Phaedrus, in consequence of
difference having dominion. For the whole mixture is no longer incor¬
ruptible, according to the same, and after the same manner, but in a
second and third degree; since in these there are subjection and order. But
by incorruptible, here, we must understand the immutable, the undeviating,
the inflexible, the immaculate form of essence, that which is not converted
to secondary natures, and which does not receive mutation, or subjection
of life, that which is established beyond the reach of mortality, and that
which is exempt from the laws of fate: for these things are common to
every genus of souls which perpetually transcend generation. But the
contraries of these are adapted to powers which descend into generation,
viz. a mutation of life from intelligence to action, the becoming sometimes
subject to fate, and the being mingled with mortal affairs. Neither is the
immovable present with these according to the same, since they sometimes
proceed into generation, nor, when it is present, is it present after the
same manner: for that which always understands is better than that which
sometimes departs from its proper intellection. Since, however, in these

148

sertingeach in each: and causing them to ascend as into a vehicle \
he pointed out to them the nature of the universe, and an¬
nounced to them the laws of fate; showing them that the first
generation orderly distributed to all was one, lest any particular

souls also there is an order, and some are undefiled, rarely associating with
generation and deserting their own order, but others are rolled in all¬
various flowers, and wander myriads of periods,—hence Timaeus indicates
the difference of these, when he says “in a second and third degree.” For
souls which descend, and become defiled with evil, are very much separated
from those that perpetually abide on high, and are free from evil: but souls
of a middle order are such as descend indeed, but are not defiled. For,
vice versa, it is not lawful to be defiled, and yet abide on high; since evil
is not in the Gods, but in the mortal place, and in material things.

Again, therefore, from these things it appears that the first genus of souls
is divine; for every where that which is the recipient of deity has a leading
order, in essences, in intellects, in souls and in bodies. But the second genus
is that which is perpetually conjoined with the Gods, that, through this,
souls which sometimes depart from may again be recalled to the Gods. The
third genus is that which falls into generation, but descends with purity, and
changes a subordinate for a more divine life, but is exempt from vice and
passions; for this genus is continuous with souls that perpetually abide on
high, and are perpetually undefiled. But the fourth and last genus is that
which abundantly wanders, which descends as far as to Tartarus, and is
again excited from its dark profundities, evolving all-various forms of life,
employing various manners, and at different times different passions. It
also obtains various forms of animals, demoniacal, human, irrational,
but is at the same time corrected by Justice, returns from earth to heaven,
and is circularly led from matter to intellect, according to certain orderly
periods of wholes. By the words, therefore, “in a certain respect indeed
after the same manner, yet not similarly incorruptible according to the
same,” he signifies that partial souls are in a certain respect incorruptible,
as for instance, according to their essence alone, but that in a certain
respect they are not incorruptible, viz. being mingled in their energies with
all-various destinies, and conversant with mortal things, and not possessing
these energies with invariable sameness, and entire, but sometimes more,
and at others less, an all-various inequality subsisting in souls, according
to their habitude to mortal natures, from which they derive the privation
of incorruptibility according to life.

1 Vulcan, who is the artificer of the whole of a corporeal essence, gives
subsistence to the vehicles of the soul; for he receives souls sent into the
world from the intelligible region, and gives different habitations to dif¬
ferent souls. The demiurgus of all tilings also gives subsistence to these

149

soul should be allotted a less portion of generation than another.
But when he had disseminated them through the several instru¬
ments of time adapted to each, he declared to them it was neces¬
sary that an animal the most religious of all others should make

vehicles; for he is the fabricator of animals, and the completions of the
universe, so that he not only produces souls, but also produces them with
their proper vehicles. As Proclus likewise well observes, the conception
of Plato here is truly wonderful: for he does not represent the demiurgus
as fashioning these vehicles from the wholenesses which are now produced,
but he says that he makes these, the junior Gods lending parts, and from
them composing bodies. But this is an evident argument, that each of
these vehicles is in a certain respect self-composed, and not fabricated by
an ablation from other things, lest it should require to be again poured
back into something else. For every thing which subsists by an abscission
from other things, being cut off with a diminution of the whole to which it
belonged, must necessarily be returned to the whole from which it was cut
off. For it is necessary that every whole in the universe should perpetually
remain a whole: and hence every such vehicle is perpetual, and the same
vehicle is always suspended from the soul. Besides, how can the soul be
any longer said to be mundane, if its vehicle is corrupted? for that of which
there is nothing in the universe cannot be mundane. For, if partial souls
are superior to a life in conjunction with vehicles, they will also be superior
to divine souls: but if they are inferior to such a life, how does the demi¬
urgus immediately after their generation introduce them into these vehicles?
And how can they use them in Hades, and in the Heavens, unless they
had them perpetually suspended from their essence? For, that they use
them in Hades, is evident from what Socrates says in the Phaedo, viz. that
souls ascending into their vehicles proceed to Acheron: and that they also
use them in the Heavens, is evident from the Phaedrus, in which Socrates
says that the vehicles of the Gods proceed equally balanced, but those of
the attendants of the Gods, with great difficulty.

From this, also, we may perceive the difference between partial and
divine souls: for with respect to the latter the demiurgus is said to place
their bodies in their souls, as being every way comprehended by them, these
souls not being converted to the objects of their government, but employ¬
ing one immutable intellection: but, with respect to partial souls, he is said
to cause these to ascend into their vehicles; for these are naturally adapted
to be frequently in subjection to bodies, and to convert themselves to the
subjects of their government; when they also become parts of the universe
as well as their vehicles, act in subserviency to the laws of fate, and no longer
live with purity under the divine light of Providence. It must likewise be
observed, that the demiurgus among other causes contains that of Nature

15°

its appearance. But as the human nature is twofold, he showed
them that the more excellent kind was that which would after¬
wards be called man. And as souls are from necessity engrafted
in bodies, and as something accedes to and something departs
from such bodies, he declared to them that, in the first place, one
connate sense * 1 produced by violent passions was necessary to

in himself, to which also he converts souls. For, by showing Nature to souls,
he also beholds it himself. But he alone beholds things prior to and in
himself. Now, therefore, he beholds Nature in himself, which he compre¬
hends supernaturally, or according to cause.

1 The demiurgus, says Proclus, comprehends the whole of a material and
mortal life in three boundaries, and establishes the causes of it in souls,
that they may obtain dominion over it: for dominion is not derived from
any thing else than essential precedency. The irrational life, therefore,
subsists intellectually in the demiurgus, but rationally in souls. Nor is this
wonderful, since body also subsists incorporeally in the intelligible causes
of all things. But this connate sense produced by violent passions, of which
Plato now speaks, is that corporeal life which is gnostic of things falling
upon it externally, which produces this knowledge through instruments,
does not subsist from itself, but from the natures by which it is used, is
mingled with material masses, and knows what it knows with passion, tor
it is necessary to sensation, that a certain agitation should be produced
about the instruments of sense; since neither do the motions in the soul
pervade every where, and as far as to the body, but there is a motion of
the soul belonging to itself by itself, such as is that which is intellectual;
nor does every thing about the body extend as far as to the soul; but there
is also a certain corporeal passion, which through its obscurity is not able
to move the soul. Sense, therefore, is produced not from all passions, but
from such as are violent, and which are attended with much agitation. And
this is corporeal sense, which is divisible and material, and forms its judg¬
ment mingled with passions. But there is another sense prior to this, in
the vehicle of the soul, which with respect to this is immaterial, and is a pure
impassive knowledge, itself subsisting by itself, but which is not liberated
from form, because it also is corporeal, as being allotted its subsistence in
body. And this sense, indeed, has the same nature with the phantasy; for
the being of both is common; but externally proceeding it is called sense,
and abiding internally, and surveying in the spirit (ev x(p jwsunaxi) forms
and figures, it is called phantasy. So far also as it is divided about the spirit,
it is sense. For, again, the basis of the rational life is opinion; but the
phantasy is the summit of the second, or the irrational life. Opinion also
and phantasy are conjoined with each other, and the second is filled from

all; and, in the second place, love mingled with pleasure and
grief. That after these, fear and anger were necessary, with
whatever else is either consequent to these, or naturally dis¬
cordant from a contrary nature. That such souls as subdue these

the more excellent with powers. But the middle of the irrational life does
not receive the impression of the natures superior to it, but is alone the
recipient of things external. It is common, however, to this also to know
that which is sensible with passivity: but external sense alone pertains to
things externally falling upon and moving it, not being able to possess
spectacles in itself, since it is partible and not one; for it is distributed about
the organs of sense. There is one sense, therefore, which is impassive and
common, another which is common and passive, and a third which is
distributed and passive. The first of these belongs to the first vehicle of the
soul, the second, to the irrational life, and the third, to the animated body.

After sense, Plato arranges desire. And this indeed is life, and is also
corporeal; but it is a life which perpetually unweaves the body, and affords
a solace to its wants, and about which pleasure and pain are beheld. For
these passions are also present to other parts of the soul; since you may
perceive pleasures and pains, both in reason and anger. But corporeal
pleasure and pain are produced according to desire. For, with respect to
the body, a way contrary to nature, and a privation of life, produce pain in
it; but a regression according to nature, and an adaptation to life, are the
sources of its pleasure. And that which is afflicted or delighted in these is
the desiderative part of the soul. But since these two passions are primary,
and the fountains of the other passions, as Plato says in the Philebus and
the Laws, through the mixture of these giving a generation to the other
passions he also denominates love a mixture of pleasure and pain. For, so
far as it is conversant with the lovely, it is present with pleasure, but, so far
as it is not yet present with it in energy, it is mingled with pain. But he
characterizes all the life of desire through love, because this passion is most
vehement about it.

In the third place, therefore, he enumerates anger. Anger then is also
life, but a life which removes every thing painful, and which disturbs the
body. Excess and defect also are surveyed about it, such as rashness and
timidity, and the things consequent to these, ambition and contention, and
all such particulars as take place about mortal concerns. And such is the
order of these three generated powers. For as soon as the body is formed
it participates of sense: since it would not be an animal, nor would possess
appetite, if it were not sensitive. For appetites subsist in conjunction with
sense, but the senses arc not entirely in conjunction with appetites; and
hence the animal is more characterized by the sensitive than by the appeti¬
tive nature. But after the possession of sense the animal appears to be

152

would live justly, but such as are vanquished by them unjustly.
And again, that he who lived well during the proper time of his
life, should, again returning to the habitation of his kindred
star * 1 , enjoy a blessed life. But that he whose conduct was de¬
praved, should in his second generation be changed into the
nature of a woman . 2 That both these, at the expiration of a
thousand years, should return to the allotment and choice of a

pleased and pained, afflicted by the cold, but cherished by the bandages,
and led to a condition according to nature. After desire, as age advances,
the animal is angered: for anger is the power of a more robust nature. Hence
also, among irrational animals, such as are more material alone live accord¬
ing to desire, and partake of pleasure and pain; but such as are more per¬
fect are allotted a more irascible life. But prior to these appetites, as we
also said of sense, there is a certain summit of them in the spirit of the soul,
which summit is a power impulsive and motive of the spirit, guarding and
connecting its essence, at one time extending and distributing itself, and at
another being led to bound and order, and measured by reason.

1 Since Plato now discourses concerning souls that are restored to their
pristine state in their legitimate star, after their first generation, and says
that on leaving the body they possess a happy life, it may be asked how this
accords with what is said in the Phaedrus? For, there, he who chooses a
philosophic life is restored to his pristine state through three lives. We
reply, with Proclus, that Plato does not here assert that the soul passes into
that very state whence it came, for this is accomplished through three chiliads
of periods, but that the soul returns to the star under which it was essentially
arranged, and leads a life in common with it. For it is possible for those that
are not philosophers to be elevated by Justice to a certain place in the
heavens, and there to live in a manner adapted to their life while in a human
form: for this is asserted in the Phzedo respecting the souls of such as are
not philosophers; since the restoration to the same condition again is one
thing, and the ascent to the kindred star another. And the former of these
requires three periods, but the latter may be effected by one period. The
former also leads back the soul to the intelligible, from which it descended,
but the latter to a subordinate form of life. For there are measures of
felicity, and the ascent is twofold; one, of those that have yet to ascend still
higher, and the other, of those that have no further flight to take. So that
it is possible for the soul having arrived at its kindred star, either to be con¬
joined with the mundane powers of its God, or to proceed still higher; but
to be led back to the intelligible requires a period of three thousand years.
For through this the highest flight is accomplished.

2 The translation of the part between the two stars is omitted by Ficinus.

153

second life; each soul receiving a life agreeable to its choice.
That in this election the human soul should pass into the life
of a brute: and that in case the inclination to evil should not
even then cease, but the defilement of vice remain according to
a similitude of the mode of generation, then the soul should be
changed into the nature of a brute correspondent to its dispo¬
sition. And that it should not be freed from the allotment of
labours \ till, following the revolution of that same and similar

1 The one safety of the soul herself, says Proclus, which is extended by the
demiurgus, and which liberates her from the circle of generation, from
abundant wandering, and an inefficacious life, is her return to the intellec¬
tual form, and a flight from every thing which naturally adheres to us from
generation. For it is necessary that the soul which is hurled like seed into
the realms of generation, should lay aside the stubble and bark, as it were,
which she obtained from being disseminated into these fluctuating realms;
and that, purifying herself from every thing circumjacent, she should become
an intellectual flower and fruit, delighting in an intellectual life instead of
doxasdc nutriment, and pursuing the uniform and simple energy of the
period of sameness, instead of the abundantly wandering motion of the
period which is characterized by difference. For she contains each of these
circles and twofold powers. And of her horses, one is good, and the other
the contrary: and one of these leads her to generation, but the other from
generation to true being; the one also leads her round the circle of sense,
but the other round an intellectual essence. For the period of the same and
the similar elevates to intellect, and an intelligible nature, and to the first
and most excellent habit. But this habit is that according to which the soul
being winged governs the whole world, becoming assimilated to the Gods
themselves. And this is the universal form of life in the soul, just as that is
the partial form when she falls into the last body, and becomes something
belonging to an individual instead of belonging to the universe. The
middle of these also is the partial universal, when she lives in conjunction
with her middle vehicle, as a citizen of generation. Dismissing, therefore, her
first habit, which subsists according to an alliance to the whole of generation,
and laying aside the irrational nature which connects her with generation,
likewise governing her irrational part by reason, and extending intellect
to opinion, she will be circularly led to a happy life, from the wandering
about the regions of sense; which life those that are initiated by Orpheus
in the mysteries of Bacchus and Proserpine pray that they may obtain, to¬
gether with the allotments of the sphere, and a cessation of evil. But if our
soul necessarily lives well, when living according to the circle of sameness,
much more must this be the case with divine souls. It is, however, possible

154

nature contained in its essence, it vanquishes those abundantly
turbulent affections, tumultuous and irrational, adhering to it
afterwards from fire, water, air, and earth, and returns to the
first and best disposition of its nature.

When he had instructed souls in all these particulars, that he
might be in no respect the cause of the future evil of each, he
disseminated some of them into the earth, others into the moon,
and others into the remaining different instruments of time.
But after this semination he delivered to the junior Gods the
province of fabricating mortal bodies, and generating whatever
else remained necessary to the human soul; and gave them
dominion over every thing consequent to their fabrications. He
likewise commanded them to govern as much as possible in the
best and most beautiful manner the mortal animal, that it might
not become the cause of evil to itself. At the same time he who
orderly disposed all these particulars remained in his own ac¬
customed abiding habit. But in consequence of his abiding, as
soon as his children understood the order of their father, they
immediately became obedient to this order; and receiving the
immortal principle of mortal animal, in imitation of their artif¬
icer, they borrowed from the world the parts of fire and earth,
water and air, as things which they should restore back again;

for our soul to live according to the circle of sameness, when purified, as
Plato says. Cathartic virtue, therefore, alone must be called the salvation
of souls; since this cuts off and vehemently obliterates material natures, and
the passions which adhere to us from generation, separates the soul, and
leads it to intellect, and causes it to leave on earth the vehicles with which
it is invested. For souls descending receive from the elements different
vehicles, aerial, aquatic, and terrestrial; and thus at last enter into this gross
bulk. For how, without a medium, could they proceed into this body from
immaterial spirits? Hence, before they come into this body, they possess
the irrational life, and its vehicle, which is prepared from the simple ele¬
ments, and from these they enter into the tumultuous, which is so called as
being foreign to the connate vehicle of souls, composed from all-various
vestments, and causing souls to become heavy. In short, the connate vehicle
makes the soul mundane, the second vehicle, a citizen of generation, and
the shelly body, (to ooTQeoiSeg,) terrestrial.

1 55

and conglutinated the received parts together, not with the same
indissoluble bonds which they themselves participated, but gave
them a tenacious adherence from thick set nails, invisible
through their smallness; fabricating the body of each, one from
the composition of all; and binding the circulations of the im¬
mortal soul in the influxive and effluxive nature of body.

But these circulations 1 , being merged in a profound river,

1 Plato, says Proclus, immediately conjoining the soul to the body, omits
all the problems pertaining to the descent of the soul, such as the prophet,
the allotments, the lives, the elections, the daemon, the residence in the plain
of oblivion, the sleeping, the oblivious potion, the thunders, and all such
particulars as the fable in the Republic discusses. But neither does he here
deliver such things as pertain to the soul after its departure from the body,
such as the terrors, the rivers, Tartarus, those savage and fiery daemons, the
thorns, the bellowing mouth, the triple road, and the judges, concerning
which the fable in the Republic, in the Gorgias, and in the Phxdo, instructs
us. What, then, you will say, is the cause of this omission? We reply, Because
Plato preserves that which is adapted to the design of the dialogue. For
here he admits whatever is physical in the theory respecting the soul, and its
association with the body.

It is requisite, however, to inquire why souls fall into bodies. And we
may reply, with Proclus, Because they wish to imitate the providential ener¬
gies of the Gods, and on this account proceed into generation, and leave
the contemplation of true being: for, as Divine perfection is twofold, one
kind being intellectual, and the other providential, and one kind consist¬
ing in an abiding energy, and the other in motion, hence souls imitate the
prolific, intellectual, and immutable energy of the Gods by contemplation,
but their providential and motive characteristic through a life conversant
with generation. As the intelligence, too, of the human soul is partial, so
likewise is her providence; but, being partial, it associates with a partial
body. But still further, the descent of the soul contributes to the perfection
of the universe; for it is necessary that there should not only be immortal and
intellectual animals, such as are the perpetual attendants of the Gods, nor
yet mortal and irrational animals only, such as are the last progeny of the
demiurgus of the universe, but likewise such as subsist between these, and
which are by no means immortal *, but are capable of participating reason
and intellect. And in many parts of the universe there are many animals
of this kind; for man is not the only rational and mortal animal, but there
are other such-like species, some of which are more daemoniacal, and others

# For the whole composite which we call man is not immortal, but only
the rational soul.

156

neither govern nor are governed, but hurry and are hurried
along with violence: in consequence of which, the whole animal
is indeed moved, yet in a disorderly manner; since from every
kind of motion its progression is fortuitous and irrational. For
it proceeds backwards and forwards, to the right and left, up¬
wards and downwards, and wanders every way according to the
six differences of place. For though the inundating 1 and efflux-

approximate nearer to our essence. But the descents of a partial soul con¬
tribute to the perfect composition of all animals, which are at the same time
mortal and rational.

Should it be again asked, Why, therefore, are partial souls descending
into generation filled with such material perturbation, and such numerous
evils? we reply, that this takes place through the inclination arising from
their free will; through their vehement familiarity with body; through their
sympathy with the image of soul, or that divisible life which is distributed
about body; through their abundant mutation from an intelligible to a
sensible nature, and from a quiet energy to one entirely conversant with
motion; and through a disordered condition of being, naturally arising from
the composition of dissimilar natures, viz. of the immortal and mortal, of
the intellectual and that which is deprived of intellect, of the indivisible
and that which is endued with interval. For all these become the cause to
the soul of this mighty tumult and labour in the realms of generation; since
we pursue a flying mockery which is ever in motion. And the soul, indeed,
by verging to a material life, kindles a light in her dark tenement the body,
but she herself becomes situated in obscurity; and by giving life to the body,
she destroys herself and her own intellect, in as great a degree as these are
capable of receiving destruction. For thus the mortal nature participates
of intellect, but the intellectual part of death, and the whole becomes a
prodigy, as Plato beautifully observes in his Laws, composed of the mortal
and immortal, of the intellectual, and that which is deprived of intellect.
For this physical law, which binds the soul to the body, is the death of the
immortal life, but is the cause of vivification to the mortal body.

1 The philosopher here, says Proclus, refers the whole of this tumult to
two causes, viz. the nutritive and sensitive life; and these are the appetitive
and gnostic powers of all the irrational part, into which we are accustomed
to divide all the powers of the soul, asserting that some of them are vital,
and others gnostic. For the nutritive life, verging to bodies, produces in
them an abundant flux; through their material moisture sending forth a
great efflux, and through vital heat receiving an influx of other things. But
the sensitive life suffers from the external bodies of fire and air, earth and
water, falling upon it; and, considering all the passions as mighty, through

J 57

ive waves pour along with impetuous abundance, which afford
nutrition to the animal, yet a still greater tumult and agitation
is produced through the passions arising from external impul¬
sions: and this either when the body is disturbed by the sudden

the vileness of its life, causes tumult to the soul. And to all these tilings,
indeed, those that are arrived at maturity are accustomed; but to those that
are recently born, the smallest things, through their being unusual, become
the causes of astonishment. For, what a great fire is to the former, that the
flame of a lamp is to the latter; and what the magnitude of the highest
mountains is to men, that the smallest stone in the fields is to infants. And
what whirlwinds and cataracts of rain are to others, that a weak motion of
the air, or the falling of a little moisture, is to those that are recently born.
For sense, being agitated by all these particulars, astonishes the soul of
infants, and leads them to desperation and tumult. These, then, in short,
are the causes of the disturbance of souls, viz. the motions of the nutritive
part, and the impulses of sense. We must not, however, suppose that the
soul suffers any thing through these particulars. For, as if some one standing
on the margin of a river should behold the image and form of himself in
the floating stream, he indeed will preserve his face unchanged, but the
stream being all-variously moved will change the image, so that at different
times it will appear to him different, oblique and upright, and perhaps
divulsed and continuous. Let us suppose, too, that such a one, through
being unaccustomed to the spectacle, should think that it was himself that
suffered this distortion, in consequence of surveying his shadow in the
water, and, thus thinking, should be afflicted and disturbed, astonished and
impeded. After the same manner the soul, beholding the image of herself
in body, borne along in the river of generation, and variously disposed at
different times, through inward passions and external impulses, is indeed
herself impassive, but thinks that she suffers, and, being ignorant of, and
mistaking her image for, herself, is disturbed, astonished, and perplexed.
This passion particularly takes place in infants: but it is also seen in the
dreams of those that have arrived at maturity; as when some one, in con¬
sequence of nature being wearied in the concoction of food, thinks in a
dream that he is wearied through long journeys, or carrying heavy burdens,
or suffers something else of this kind. But to return to the words of Plato,
the waves do not signify, says Proclus, the externally blowing wind, as some
say, but the collected agitation, and abundant influx and efflux which take
place in youth. But the inundation first strikes upon and makes the pneu¬
matic vehicle heavier, for it is this which expresses stains and vapours; and
in the second place it strikes upon the soul, for she also is disturbed by the
collected and the sudden.

158

incursion of external fire, or by the solidity of earth, or receives
an injury from the whirling blasts of the air. For from all these,
through the medium of the body, various motions are hurried
along, and fall with molestation on the soul. But on this account
all these were afterwards, and are even now, denominated senses.
And these, indeed, both at first and at present b are the sources of
an abundant and mighty motion, in conjunction with that per¬
petually flowing river, moving and vehemently agitating the
circulations of the soul, every way fettering the revolution of the
nature characterized by sameness , through flowing in a contrary

1 Sense, says Proclus, is of the present, in the same manner as memory is
of the past, but hope of the future. Sense, therefore, excites souls in the
present time, and this in conjunction with the nutritive power, which by
influxions applies a remedy to the perpetual effluxions of the body, and
again composes what was analysed, after the manner of Penelope’s web.
For this is the perpetually flowing river, which is properly so called, as being
a part of the whole river of generation. Hence, in conjunction with this,
it agitates and disturbs the periods of the immortal soul, and fetters, indeed,
the circle of sameness , but agitates the circle of difference. For, as there are
twofold circles in the soul in imitation of divine souls, the dianoetic circle,
which contemplates intelligibles, is only restrained in its energy, but sus¬
tains no distortion: but the doxastic circle is distorted; and this very prop¬
erly, since it is possible to opine not rightly, but it is not possible to know
scientifically falsely. If it should be said that the dianoetic part may be
ignorant in a twofold respect, and that a thing which suffers this is distorted;
we reply, that twofold ignorance does not simply belong to the dianoetic
part, but, originating indeed from thence, is implanted in the doxastic part.
For, so far as it is ignorance, and a privation of science, so far, being an
immobility of the scientific power, it originates from the dianoetic part.
For science and ignorance subsist about the same thing. But, so far as it
also adds a false opinion of knowledge, it subsists in the doxastic part. And
ignorance is the insanity of the dianoetic part, possessing, indeed, but con¬
cealing, the productive principles of knowledge; but false conception is
the insanity of opinion, of which it is also the distortion. For, being false,
it also depraves its possessor; since what vice is in action, that falsehood is
in knowledge. The period of sameness, therefore, is alone fettered, and is
similar to those that are bound, and on this account are impeded in their
energies; but the period of difference is agitated, being filled with false
opinions. For its proximity to the irrational nature causes it to receive a
certain passion from externals.

1 59

direction, and restraining its energies by their conquering and
impetuous progressions. But they agitate and tear in pieces the
circulation of the nature distinguished by difference. Hence,
they whirl about with every kind of revolution each of the three
intervals of the double and triple, together with the mediums
and conjoining bonds of the sesquitertian, sesquialter, and ses-
quioctave ratios, which cannot be dissolved by any one except
the artificer by whom they were bound: and besides this, they
induce all the fractures and diversities of circles which it is pos¬
sible to effect; so that, scarcely being connected with each other,
they are borne along indeed, yet in an irrational manner, at one
time in a contrary, at another time in an oblique, and then again
in a resupine situation. Just as if any one, in an inverted posi¬
tion, should fix his head on the earth and raise his feet on high;
for in such a situation both the inverted person and the specta¬
tors would mutually imagine the right hand parts to be on the
left, and the left to be on the right. So with respect to the cir¬
culations of the soul, the very same affections, and others of a
similar kind, vehemently take place; and hence, when this is the
case, if any thing external occurs, characterized by the nature of
same or different , they denominate things the same with, or
different from, others in a manner contrary to the truth. Hence
they become false, and destitute of intelligence; nor is any revolu¬
tion to be found among them in such a situation which energizes
with the authority of a ruler and chief.

But when certain senses, borne along externally, strike against
the soul and attract the whole of its receptacle, then the circula¬
tions which are in reality in subjection appear to have dominion:
and hence, in consequence of all these passions, the soul becomes
insane at present, and was so from the first period of her being
bound in a mortal body. However, when the river of increase
and nutrition flows along with a more gentle and less abundant
course, the circulations, being again restored to tranquillity, pro¬
ceed in their proper path; in process of time become more regu¬
lar and steady, and pass into a figure accommodated to their

160

nature. Hence, in this case, the revolutions of each of the circles
becoming direct, and calling both same and different by their
proper appellations, they render the being by whom they are
possessed prudent and wise. If any one, therefore, receives a
proper education in conjunction with convenient nutriment,
such a one will possess perfect health, and will every way avoid
the most grievous disease. But when this is neglected by any
individual, such a one, proceeding along the path of life in a
lame condition, will again pass into Hades imperfect and desti¬
tute of intelligence. These are particulars, however, which hap¬
pen posterior to the production of mankind. But it is our busi¬
ness at present to discourse more accurately concerning the first
composition of our nature, and to show, in the first place, from
assimilative reasons, through what cause and providence of the
Gods the several members of the body were accommodated to
the several employments of the soul.

In the first place, then, the Gods bound the two divine circu¬
lations of the soul in a spherical body, in imitation of the circu¬
lar figure of the universe: and this part of the body is what we
now denominate the head; a most divine member, and the
sovereign ruler of our whole corporeal composition, through
the decree of the Gods, who considered that it would participate
of all possible motions. Lest, therefore, the head, by rolling like
a cylinder on the earth, which is distinguished by all-various
heights and depths, should be unable to pass over its inequalities
and asperities, the Gods subjected this upright figure of the
body, as a pliable vehicle to the head. Hence, in consequence
of the body being endued with length, they extended four
naturally flexible members; Divinity fabricating a progression
through which the body might apprehend any object, might re¬
ceive a stable support, and might be able to pass through every
place, bearing on high the head, our most divine and sacred
habitation. For this purpose, therefore, they furnished us with
legs and hands. And as the Gods considered that the anterior
parts are more honourable and adapted to rule than the pos*

161

terior, they gave us a motion for the most part consisting of a
forward progression. Beside this, it was requisite that the an¬
terior parts of our body should be divided from each other,
and be dissimilar: and on this account they first placed about the
cavity of the head the face; fixed in it organs subservient to all
the providential energies of the soul, and determined that the
natural government of man should consist in this anterior part
of the body. But they fabricated the luciferous eyes the first of
all the corporeal organs, binding them in the face on the follow¬
ing account. Of that fire which does not burn, indeed, but which
comprehends our proper diurnal light, the Gods fabricated the
orbs of the eyes. For the fire contained within our body, and
which is the genuine brother of this diurnal fire, they caused to
flow through the eyes with smoothness, and collected abundance,
condensed indeed in the whole, but especially in the middle of
these lucid orbs; so as that the more dense fire might remain con¬
cealed within the recesses of the eyes, and the pure might find a
passage and fly away. When, therefore, the diurnal light sub¬
sists about the effluxive river of the sight, then, similar concur¬
ring and being mingled with similar, one domestic body is con¬
stituted according to the direct procession of the eyes; and this
too in that part where the internally emitted light resists that
which is externally adduced. But the whole becoming similarly
passive through similitude, when it either touches any thing else
or is itself touched by another, then the motion produced by
this contact diffusing itself through the whole body of the eye,
as far as to the soul, causes that sensation which we denominate
sight. But when this kindred fire departs into night, the con¬
junct on being dissolved, sight loses its power. For in this case,
proceeding into a dissimilar nature, it is changed, and becomes
extinct: since it is by no means connate with the proximate sur¬
rounding air, which is naturally destitute of fire. Ffence it ceases
from seeing; and, besides this, becomes the introducer of sleep.
For the Gods fabricated the nature of the eyelids as a salutary
guardian of the sight; that, these being compressed, the inward
162

fiery power of the eye might be restrained from any further
emission; that, besides this, they might sprinkle over and equal¬
ize the eye’s internal motions; and that, when equalized, rest
might be produced.

But when much rest takes place, sleep attended with few
dreams is produced. On the contrary, if certain more vehement
motions remain, then such as is the nature of these relics, and
the places in which they were produced, such and so many will
be the similar phantasms within, and of which we shall possess
the remembrance when we are externally roused. But with re¬
spect to the images produced in mirrors, and all such things as
are visible in that which is apparent and smooth, there is nothing
in these difficult of solution. For, from the communication of the
external and internal fire with each other, and from that fire
which subsists about the smooth body, and becomes abundantly
multiplied, all such appearances are necessarily produced as take
place when the fire of the eyes mingles itself with the fire diffused
about the smooth and splendid object of vision. But the right
hand parts appear to be the left, because a contact takes place
between the contrary parts of the sight and the contrary parts of
the object, different from the accustomed mode of perception.
On the contrary, the right hand parts appear on the right, and
the left hand on the left, when the mingled light leaps forth,
together with that with which it is mingled. When the smooth¬
ness of the mirrors receives this here and there in an elevated
manner, it repels the right hand part of the sight to the left of
the mirror, and the left to the right. But if the mirror is turned
according to the length of the countenance, it causes the whole
face to appear resupine, by repelling the downward part of the
splendour towards the upward part, and again the upper towards
the downward part. All such particulars as these, therefore, are
but causal assistants, which the Divinity employed as subservient
to rendering the idea of that which is best as far as possible com¬
plete. But the multitude are of opinion that these are not causal
assistants , but the real causes of all things ; I mean such things as

163

are capable of giving cold and heat, rarity and density, with what¬
ever produces such-like affections, but is incapable of possessing
reason and intellect. For soul must be considered as the only
thing among beings by which intellect can be possessed. And
this is invisible. But lire and water, air and earth, are all of them
visible bodies. It is, however, necessary that the lover of intellect
and science should explore the first causes of prudent nature ;
and that he should consider such things as are moved by others,
and at the same time necessarily give motion to other things, as
nothing more than secondary causes. Hence it is proper that we
should speak concerning both kinds of causes; separately of such
as fabricate things beautiful and good in conjunction with in¬
tellect, and of such as, being left destitute of wisdom, produce
each particular in a casual and disorderly manner. Concerning
the second causes of the eyes, therefore, which contribute to the
possession of the power they are now allotted, what has been
already said is sufficient.

But the greatest employment of the eyes, with respect to the
use for which they were bestowed on us by the Divinity, we shall
now endeavour to explain. For, in my opinion, the sight is the
cause of the greatest emolument to us on the present occasion;
since what we are now discoursing concerning the universe could
never have been discovered without surveying the stars, the sun,
and the heavens. But now, from beholding day and night, we
are able to determine by arithmetical calculation the periods
of months and years; to acquire a conception of time, and to
scrutinize the nature of the universe. But from all this we ob¬
tain the possession of philosophy; a greater good than which
never was nor ever will be bestowed by the Gods on the mortal
race. And this is what I call the greatest benefit of the eyes. But
why should I celebrate other particulars of less consequence,
which he who is not a philosopher, since destitute of sight, may
attempt to explore, but will explore in vain? By us, indeed, it is
asserted that Divinity bestowed sight on us for this purpose, that
on suiveying the circulations of intellect in the heavens we may

164

properly employ the revolutions of our dianoetic part, which are
allied to their circulations; and may recall the tumultuous mo¬
tions of our discursive energies to the orderly processions of
their intellectual periods. That besides this, by learning these
and participating right reason according to nature, and imitat¬
ing the revolutions of Divinity which are entirely inerratic, we
may give stability to the wanderings of our dianoetic energy.

But concerning voice and hearing, we again assert that they
were bestowed on us by the Gods on the same account. For the
acquisition of speech pertains to these, and is of the greatest ad¬
vantage to their possession. And whatever utility musical voice
brings to the sense of hearing, was bestowed for the sake of
harmony. But harmony, possessing motions allied to the revolu¬
tions of our soul, is useful to the man who employs the Muses
in conjunction with intellect; but is of no advantage to irrational
pleasure, though it appears to be so at present. Indeed, it was
given us by the Muses for the purpose of reducing the dissonant
circulation of the soul to an order and symphony accommodated
to its nature. Rhythm too was bestowed on us for this purpose;
that we might properly harmonize that habit in our nature,
which for the most part is void of measure, and indigent of the
Graces. And thus far, a few particulars excepted, have we shown
the fabrications of intellect. But it is likewise requisit ^to give
a place in our discourse to the productions of necessity, j For, the
generation of the world being mingled, it was produced from
the composition of intellect and necessity. But intellect ruling
over necessity persuaded it to lead the most part of generated
natures to that which is best; and hence necessity being van¬
quished by wise persuasion, from these two as principles the
world arose. If, then, any one truly asserts that the universe was
generated according to these, he should also mingle with it the
form of an erratic cause, which it is naturally adapted to receive.
In this manner then let us return; and, assuming a convenient
principle of these, again discourse concerning them as about
the former particulars, commencing our discussion from their

165

origin. Let us, therefore, speculate the nature and passions of
fire and water, air and earth, prior to the generation of the
heavens. No one, indeed, as yet lias unfolded the generation of
these^ but wespeak of fire, and the other elements, as if the
nature of each was known; and place them as the principles of
the universe, when at the same time they ought not to be assimi¬
lated to elements, not even as in the rank of syllables, by men
who in the smallest degree merit the appellation of wise. But
now we shall not speak of the principle or principles, or what¬
ever other denomination they may receive, of all things; and
this for no other reason than the difficulty of delivering what
appears to be the truth about these in the present mode of dis¬
putation. Neither, therefore, is it proper that you should ex¬
pect me to speak, nor that I should persuade myself into a belief
of being able to speak with perfect rectitude on so difficult a
subject. But it is proper, as I told you in the beginning of this
discourse, that, preserving all the force of assimilative reasons,
we should endeavour to deliver that which is not less assimilative
of the truth than the doctrine of others; and that in this manner
we should discourse from the beginning concerning particulars
and the whole. In the first place, therefore, invoking the Divinity
who is the saviour of discourse, and beseeching him to lead us
from an absurd and unusual exposition to an assimilative doc¬
trine, we shall again begin to speak.

But it is necessary that the beginning of our present disputa¬
tion should receive a more ample division than the former_one.
For then we made a distribution into two species: but now a
third sort must be added. In the former disputation two species
were sufficient;/ one of which was established as the form of an
exemplar, intelligible and always subsisting according to same;
but the other was nothing more than the imitation of the
paradigm, generated and visible. But we did not then distribute
a third, because we considered these two as sufficient./However,
now reason seems to urge as a thing necessary, that we should
endeavour to render apparent by our discourse the species which

166

subsists as difficult and obscure. What apprehension then can
we form of its power and nature? Shall we say that it is in an
eminent degree the receptacle, and as it were nurse, of all gen¬
eration? Such an assertion will, indeed, be true; but it is requi¬
site to speak more clearly concerning it. And this will certainly
be an arduous undertaking on many accounts, but principally
because it will be necessary to doubt previous to its discussion
concerning fire and the rest of the elements, why any one of
these should be called water rather than fire, or air rather than
earth; or why any one should be denominated some definite
particular rather than all. For it is indeed difficult to frame any
certain opinion, or to employ any stable discourse about such
intricate forms. After what manner, then, and in what respect,
and what of an assimilative nature shall we assert in this dubious
inquiry?

In the first place, then, that which we now denominate water,
when it loses its fluidity by concretion, appears to become stones
and earth; but, when liquefied and dispersed, it forms vapour
and air. Likewise, air when burnt up becomes fire. And, on the
contrary, fire becoming concrete and extinct passes again into
the form of air. And again, air becoming collected and con¬
densed produces mists and clouds. But from these still more
compressed rain descends. And from water, again, earth and
stones derive their subsistence. And thus, as it appears, they
mutually confer on each other generation in a certain circular
progression. But since these never appear to be the same, who
without being covered with confusion can confidently assert
that any one of these is this rather than that? Certainly, no one.
Hence it will be far the most safe method of proceeding to speak
about them as follows:^That the nature which we always per¬
ceive becoming something different at different times, such, for
instance, as fire, is not fire absolutely, but something fiery. And
again, that the nature which we denominate water is not abso¬
lutely so, but such-like, or watery; and that it is not at any time
any thing else, as if it possessed any stability of essence. And

167

lastly, that they cannot be distinguished by any word, such as we
are accustomed to employ when endeavouring to show that any
particular is either this thing or that. For they fly away, in¬
capable of sustaining the affirmation which asserts them to be
this thing, of such a nature 9 belonging to this ; and all such
appellations as would evince them to be something permanent
and real. Hence, we ought not to denominate any one of these
either this, or that; but something such-like, and a perpetually-
revolving similitude. Thus, we should assert that fire is every
where such-like , and should speak in the same manner of every
thing endued with generation. But we should alone distinguish
by the appellations of this, or that, the subject in which each of
these appears to be generated, and again to suffer a dissolution.
But this subject is by no means to be denominated such-like , as
for instance hot or white, or any quality belonging to contraries,
or any thing which contraries compose. However, let us en¬
deavour to explain more clearly what we mean to express. For
if any one, fashioning all possible figures from gold, should with¬
out ceasing transform each figure into all; and if, during this
operation, some one who is present should, pointing to one of
these figures, inquire what it is; it might most safely, with respect
to truth, be replied, that it was gold: but he who should assert
that it is a triangle, or any other of the figures which are con¬
tinually generated, and which ought by no means to be denomi¬
nated beings, would fall from the truth in the midst of his asser¬
tion. But we ought to be content with that answer as most safe,
which denominates it such-like , or of such a determinate nature.

In the same manner we should speak concerning that nature
which is the general receptacle of all bodies. For it never departs
from its own proper power, but perpetually receives all things;
and never contracts any form in any respect similar to any one
of the intromitted forms. It lies indeed in subjection to the
forming power of every nature, becoming agitated and figured
through the supernally intromitted forms: and through these it
exhibits a different appearance at different times. But the forms

168

which enter and depart from this receptacle are the imitations
of perpetuaily true beings; and are figured by them in a manner
wonderful and difficult to describe, as we shall afterwards relate. I
At present, however, it is necessary to consider three sorts of
things: one, that which is generated^ another, that in which it is
generated; and the third, that from which the generated nature
derives its similitude. But it is proper to assimilate that which
receives to a mother; that from whence it receives to a father;
and the nature situated between these to an offspring. It is like¬
wise necessary to understand that the figured nature can never
become distinguished with an all-possible variety of forms, un¬
less its receptacle is well prepared for the purpose, and is desti¬
tute of all those forms which it is about to receive. For, if it were
similar to any one of the supernally intromitted forms, when
it received a nature contrary to that to which it is similar, or any
form whatever, it would very imperfectly express its similitude,
while at the same time it exhibited the very same appearance
with the supernally acceding form, j And hence it is necessary,
that the receptacle which is destined to receive all possible forms
should itself be destitute of every form. Just as those who are
about to prepare sweet-smelling unguents, so dispose a certain
humid matter as the subject of the ensuing odour, that it may
possess no peculiar smell of its own; and as those who wish to
impress certain figures in a soft and yielding matter, are careful
that it may not appear impressed with any previous figure, but
render it as much as possible exquisitely smooth. In the same
manner, it is necessary that the subject which is so often destined
to receive in a beautiful manner, through the whole of itself,
resemblances of eternal beings, should be naturally destitute of
all that it receives. Hence, we should not denominate this
mother and receptacle of that which is generated, visible and
every way sensible, either earth, or air, or fire, or water; nor,
again, any one of the composites from these, or any thing from
which these are generated: but we should call it a certain invisible
species, and a formless universal recipient, which in the most

dubious and scarcely explicable manner participates of an in¬
telligible nature. Of itself, indeed, we cannot speak without
deception; but so far as it is possible to apprehend its nature
from what has been previously said, we may with the greatest
rectitude assert as follows: that fire appears to be its inflamed
part; water its moist part; and that earth and air are its parts
in a similar manner, so far as it receives the imitations of these.
But we ought rather thus to inquire about these, distinguishing
and separating them by a reasoning process; whether there is a
certain fire, itself subsisting in itself; and whether this is the case
with all such particulars which we perpetually assert to subsist
from themselves; or whether such things alone as are the objects
of sight, and which are perceived through the ministry of the
body, possess being and truth; so that nothing besides these has
in any respect any subsistence; that we in vain assert there is a
certain intelligible form of each of these; and that all such forms
are nothing but words. Indeed, whether such a doctrine is true
or not, must not be asserted rashly and without examination:
nor is it proper to add to the present disputation, which is
naturally prolix, any thing tedious and foreign from the pur¬
pose. But if any definition can be employed in this affair, com¬
prehending things of great moment in a short compass, such
a one will be very opportune to our present design. In this
manner then I shall relate my opinion on the subject.

If intellect and true opinion are two kinds of things, it is
every way necessary that there should be forms, subsisting by
themselves, which are not the objects of sense, but which are
apprehended by intelligence alone. But if, as appears to some,
true opinion differs in no respect from intellect, every thing
which is perceived through body is to be considered as possessing
the most certain and stable nature. But in reality these ought
to be denominated two distinct things, because they are gener¬
ated separate from each other, and are dissimilar./For the one
of these subsists in us through learning, but the o&ier through
persuasion. And the one is indeed always attended with true

170

reason, but the other is irrational. The one is not to be moved by
persuasion;, the other, on the contrary, is subject to this mutation.
And lastly, of true opinion every man participates; but of intel¬
lect all the Gods, and but a few of mankind./' Such then being
the case, we must confess that the form which subsists according
to same, is unbegotten and without decay; neither receiving any
thing into itself externally, nor itself proceeding into any other
nature. That it is invisible, and imperceptible by sense; and
that this is the proper object of intellectual speculation. But the
form which is synonymous and similar to this, must be con¬
sidered as sensible, generated, always in agitation, and generated
in a certain place, from which it again recedes, hastening to disso¬
lution; and which is apprehended by opinion in conjunction
with sense. But the third nature is that of place; which never
receives corruption, but affords a seat to all generated forms.
This indeed is tangible without tangent perception; and is
scarcely by a certain spurious reasoning the object of belief.
Besides, when we attempt to behold this nature, we perceive
nothing but the delusions of dreams, and assert that every being
must necessarily be somewhere, and be situated in a certain
place: and we by no means think that any thing can exist, which
is neither in the earth nor comprehended by the heavens. All
these, and all such opinions as are the sisters of these, we are not
able to separate from our cogitation of that which subsists about
a vigilant and true nature: and this because we cannot rouse our¬
selves from this fallacious and dreaming energy, and perceive
that in reality it is proper for an image to subsist in something
different from itself; since that in which it is generated has no
proper resemblance of its own, but perpetually exhibits the
phantasm of something else; and can only participate of essence
in a certain imperfect degree, or it would become in every respect
a perfect non-entity. But to true being, true reason bears an
assisting testimony, through the accuracy of its decisions; affirm¬
ing, that as long as two things are different from each other, each

171

can never become so situated in either, as to produce at the same
time one thing, and two things essentially the same.

This, then, is summarily my opinion:—that, prior to the
generation of the universe, these three things subsisted in a
triple respect, viz. being, place, and generation. And that the
nurse of generation, fiery and moist, receiving the forms of earth
and air, and suffering such other passions as are the attendants
of these, appeared of an all-various nature to the view. But be¬
cause it was neither filled with similar powers, nor with such as
are equally balanced, it possessed no part in equilibrium; but
through the perfect inequality of its libration it became agi¬
tated by these passions, and again through its motion gave agita¬
tion to these. But the parts in motion, being separated from
each other, were impetuously hurried along in different direc¬
tions, similar to the agitations and ventilations which take place
in the operations of textorial instruments, and such as are em¬
ployed in the purgation of corn. For in this case the dense and
the heavy parts are borne along one way, and the rare and the
light are impelled into a different seat. In the same manner,
these four natures being agitated by their receptacle tu¬
multuously moving like the instrument of corn, such as were
dissimilar became far separated from each other, and such as
were similar became again amicably united. And hence they
passed into different seats before the universe was from the
mixture of these distributed into beautiful order; but at the
same time they all subsisted irrationally, and without the limi¬
tation of measure.

But when the artificer began to adorn the universe, he first of
all figured with forms and numbers fire and earth, water and air,
which possessed indeed certain traces of the true elements, but
were in every respect so constituted, as it becomes any thing to
be from which Deity is absent. But we should always persevere
in asserting that Divinity rendered them as much as possible
the most beautiful and the best, when they were in a state of
existence opposite to such a condition. I shall now, therefore,

172

endeavour to unfold to you the distribution and generation of
these by a discourse unusual indeed, but, to you who have trod
in all the paths of erudition, through which demonstration is
necessarily obtained, perspicuous and plain. In the first place,
then, that fire and earth, water and air, are bodies, is perspicuous
to every one. But every species of body possesses profundity;
and it is necessary that every depth should comprehend the
nature of a plane. Again, the rectitude of the base of a plane is
composed from triangles. But all triangles originate from two
species; one of which possesses one right angle, and the other
two acute angles. And one of these contains one right angle
distributed with equal sides; but in the other unequal angles
are distributed with unequal sides. Hence, proceeding accord¬
ing to assimilative reasons, conjoined with necessity, we shall
establish a principle of this kind, as the origin of fire and all
other bodies. The supernal principles of these indeed are known
to Divinity, and to the man who is in friendship with Divinity.

But it is necessary to relate by what means four most beautiful
bodies were produced; dissimilar indeed to each other, but which
are able from certain dissolutions into each other to become the
sources, of each other’s generation. For, if we are able to accom¬
plish this, we shall obtain the truth concerning the generation
of earth and fire, and of those elements which are situated ac¬
cording to analogy between these. And then we shall not assent
to any one who should assert that there are visible bodies more
beautiful than these, each of which subsists according to one
kind. We must endeavour, therefore, to harmonize the four
sorts of bodies excelling in beauty; and to evince by this means
that we sufficiently comprehend the nature of these. Of the
two triangles indeed the isosceles is allotted one nature, but the
oblong or scalene is characterized by infinity. We ought there¬
fore to choose the most beautiful among infinites, if we wish
to commence our investigation in a becoming manner. And if
any one shall assert that he has chosen something more beautiful
for the composition of these, we shall suffer his opinion to pre-

*73

vail; considering him not as an enemy, but as a friend. Of many
triangles, therefore, we shall establish one as most beautiful
(neglecting the rest); I mean the equilateral, which is composed
from three parts of a scalene triangle. To assign the reason of
this would indeed require a prolix dissertation; but a pleasant
reward will remain for him who by a diligent investigation finds
this to be the case. We have, therefore, selected two triangles
out of many, from which the body of fire and of the other ele¬
ments is fabricated; one of which is isosceles, but the other is
that which always has its longer side triply greater in power
than the shorter.

But that which we formerly asserted without sufficient security,
it is now necessary more accurately to define. For it appeared
to us, though improperly, that all these four natures were
mutually generated from each other: but they are in reality
generated from the triangles which we have just described:—
three of them, indeed, from one triangle containing unequal
sides; but the fourth alone is aptly composed from the isosceles
triangle. All of them, therefore, are not able, by a dissolution
into each other, to produce from many small things a mighty
few, or the contrary. This indeed can be effected by three of
them. For, as all the three are naturally generated from one
triangle, when the greater parts are dissolved, many small parts
are composed from them, receiving figures accommodated to
their natures. And again, when the many small parts being
scattered according to triangles produce a number of one bulk,
they complete one mighty species of a different kind. And thus
much may suffice concerning their mutual generation.

It now remains that we should speak concerning the quality
of each of their kinds, and relate from what concurring numbers
they were collected together. The first species indeed is that
which was composed from the fewest triangles, and is the ele¬
ment of that which has its longer side twice the length of the
shorter side, which it subtends. But two of these being mutually
placed according to the diameter, and this happening thrice, the

174

diameters and the shorter sides passing into the same, as into
a centre, hence one equilateral triangle is produced from six
triangles. But four equilateral triangles being composed, accord¬
ing to three plane angles, form one solid angle; and this the most
obtuse of all the plane angles from which it is composed. Hence,
from four triangles of this kind receiving their completion, the
first solid species was constituted, distributive of the whole
circumference into equal and similar parts. But the second was
formed from the same triangles, but at the same time constituted
according to eight equilateral triangles, which produced one
solid angle from four planes: so that the second body received
its completion from the composition of six triangles of this kind.
And the third arose from the conjunction of twice sixty ele¬
ments, and twelve solid angles, each of which having twenty
equilateral bases is contained by five plane equilateral triangles.
In this manner, then, the other elements generated these. But
the isosceles triangle, being constituted according to four tri¬
angles, and collecting the right angles at the centre, and forming
one equilateral quadrangle, generated the nature of the fourth
element. But six such as these being conjoined produced eight
solid angles, each of which is harmonized together, according to
three plane right angles. Hence the figure of the body thus
composed is cubical, obtaining six plane quadrangular equi¬
lateral bases. There is also a certain fifth composition, which
Divinity employed in the fabrication of the universe, and when
he delineated those forms the contemplation of which may justly
lead some one to doubt whether it is proper to assert that the
number of worlds is infinite or finite;—though indeed to affirm
that there are infinite worlds, can only be the dogma of one who
is ignorant about things in which it is highly proper to be skilful.
But it may with much less absurdity be doubted whether there is
in reality but one world, or whether there are five. According
to our opinion, indeed, which is founded on assimilative reasons,
there is but one world: though some one, regarding in a certain

>75

respect other particulars, may be of a different opinion. But it is
proper to dismiss any further speculations of this kind.

Let us now, therefore, distribute the four sorts of things which
we have generated, into fire, earth, water, and air. And to earth
indeed let us assign a cubical form: for earth is the most im¬
movable of all these four kinds, and the most plastic, or adapted
to formation, of all corporeal natures. But it is in the most
eminent degree necessary that this should be the case with that
which possesses the most secure and stable bases. Among the
triangles, indeed, established at the beginning, such as are equi¬
lateral possess firmer bases than such as contain unequal sides.
And hence, among the plane figures composed from each, it will
be found that the isosceles is necessarily more stable than the
equilateral, and the square than die triangle, both when con¬
sidered according to parts and to the whole. On this account, by
distributing this figure to the earth, we shall preserve an assimila¬
tive reason. This will be the case too by assigning to water that
figure which is more difficultly movable than the other three; to
fire, the most easily movable form; and to air, that figure which
possesses a middle nature. Besides this, we should assign the
smallest body to fire, the greatest to water, and one of a middle
kind to air. And again, the most acute body to fire, the second
from this to air, and the third to water. But, among all these, it
is necessary that the body which possesses the fewest bases, should
be the most easily movable: for, being every way the most acute,
it becomes the most penetrating and incisive of all. It is like¬
wise the most light, because composed from the fewest parts.
But that which is second to this, possesses these properties in a
secondary respect; and that which ranks as the third, in a third
gradation. Hence, according to right and assimilative reason,
the solid form of the pyramid is the element and seed of fire.
But we must assign that form which is second according to gener¬
ation to air; and that which is the third to water. And it is
necessary to consider all these such, with respect to their small¬
ness, that no one of the several sorts can be discerned by us, on

account of its parvitude; but that, when many of them are col¬
lected together, their bulks become the objects of our percep¬
tion. And besides this, all these were accurately absolved and
harmonized by the Divinity, both as to their multitude, motions,
and powers, in such a proportion as the willing and persuaded
nature of necessity was able to receive.

But, among all those natures whose kinds we have above re¬
lated, the following circumstances appear to take place. And
first with respect to earth: when it meets with fire, becoming dis¬
solved by its acuteness, it is borne along; and remains in this
dissolved state either in fire, or in the bulk of air, or in that of
water—till its parts, associating themselves together, and again
becoming mutually harmonized, produce again a body of earth;
for it can never pass into another form. But water, when it is
distributed into parts by fire or air, when its parts become again
collected, produces one body of fire, but two bodies of air. And
the sections of air form from one dissolved part two bodies of
fire. Again, when fire receives into itself either air or water, or
a certain earth, and, being itself small, is moved in many natures;
and besides this, when, through opposing, being vanquished by
the agitated forms, it becomes broken in pieces, then two bodies
of fire coalesce into one form of air. And when air becomes van¬
quished and separated into parts, then, from two wholes and a
half, one whole form of water is produced. But, again, let us
consider this matter as follows: When any one of the other forms,
becoming invested by fire, is cut by the acuteness of its angles
and sides, then, passing into the nature of fire, it suffers no
further discerption. For no species is ever able to produce muta¬
tion or passivity, or any kind of alteration, in that which is similar
and the same with itself: but as long as it passes into something
else, and the more imbecil contends with the more powerful,
it will not cease to be dissolved.

Again, when the lesser are comprehended in the greater many,
and the few being lacerated are extinguished,—if they are will¬
ing to pass into the idea of the conquering nature, they cease to

177

be extinguished, and air becomes generated from fire, and water
from air. But if, when this transition is accomplished, the com¬
posite opposes any of the other species, the agitated parts will
not cease to be dissolved, till, on account of their dissoluble
subsistence being every way impelled, they fly to their kindred
nature; or being vanquished, and becoming one from many,
similar to their vanquisher, they abide with the victor in amicable
conjunction. But, in consequence of these passions, they all
of them mutually change the receptacles which they once pos¬
sessed. For the multitude of each kind is distinguished, accord¬
ing to its proper place, through the motion of its recipient seat.
But such as become dissimilar to each other are borne along
through the agitation to the place of the natures to which they
are similar. Such bodies, therefore, as are unmixed, and the first,
are generated from such causes as these. But that other genera
are naturally inherent in these forms, is owing to the composition
of each element; which not only from the first produces a
triangle, together with magnitude, but also such things as are
greater and less: and this so many in number as there are dif¬
ferent kinds in the forms themselves. And hence, these being
mingled in themselves, and with each other, produce an infinite
variety; which it is proper he should contemplate who is about
to employ assimilative reasons in the investigation of nature. He,
therefore, who does not apprehend in what manner, and in con¬
junction with what particulars, the motion and composition
of these take place, will find many impediments in the remain¬
ing part of this disputation. And these indeed we have already
partly discussed; but a part still remains for our investigation.

And, in the first place, motion is by no means willing to reside
in smoothness: for it is difficult, or rather impossible, that a thing
in motion should subsist without a mover, or a mover without
that which is in motion. Hence, it is impossible that these should
be at any time equable and smooth. And, in consequence of
this, we should always place an abiding nature in smoothness,
and motion in that which is unequal and rough. Inequality,

178

indeed, is the cause of roughness: and we have already treated
concerning the generation of inequality. But we have by no
means explained how the several sorts, being undistributed ac¬
cording to their kinds, cease to be moved and borne along
through each other. This, therefore, must be the subject of our
present discussion. The circulation then of the universe, since
it comprehends the different sorts of things in its circumference,
being of a circular form, and naturally desiring to pass into union
with itself, compresses all things within its spacious receptacle,
and does not suffer a void place any where to subsist. On this
account, fire in the most eminent degree penetrates through
all things; and air next to this, ranking as the second to fire, on
account of the subtility and tenuity of its parts. And the same
reasoning must be extended to the other elements, which are
posterior to these. For such as are composed from the greatest
parts leave also the greatest vacuity in their composition; but,
on the contrary, such as are the smallest leave the least vacuity.
But the coalition of compression thrusts the small parts into the
void spaces of the large; and on this account, the small parts
being placed with the large, and the former separating the latter,
but the larger being mingled with, the smaller, all of them are
borne upwards and downwards to their respective places of
abode. For each, upon changing its magnitude, changes also its
situation. Hence, through these causes the generation of a nature
contrary to smoothness being always preserved, affords a per¬
petual motion of these, both at present and in all future periods
of time.

But, in the next place, it is necessary to understand that there
are many kinds of fire: as for instance, flame, and that which is
enkindled from flame; which burns, indeed, but exhibits no light
to the eyes—and which, when the flame is extinguished, abides in
the ignited nature. In like manner, with respect to air, one kind
is most pure, which is denominated ether; but another most
turbulent, and at the same time obscure and dark; and after this
another nameless kind is produced, through the inequality of

*79

the triangles. But, with respect to water, it is in the first place
twofold; one kind of which is humid, but the other fusile. The
humid, therefore, through its participating such parts as are
small and unequal, becomes movable, both from itself and an¬
other, through inequality and the idea of its figure. But that
which is composed from large and smooth parts is more stable
than this kind of water, and coalesces into a heavy body through
smoothness and equality of parts. But through fire entering into
and dissolving its composition, in consequence of losing its
equability and smoothness, it participates more of a movable na¬
ture. Hence, becoming easily agile, driven about by the proximate
air, and extended over the earth, it liquefies, which is denomi¬
nated a purification of bulk, and falls upon the earth, which is
called a defluxion. Again, fire flying upwards from hence, since
it does not depart into a vacuum, the proximate air being agi¬
tated, impels the moist bulk as yet movable into the seats of fire,
with which at the same time it mingles itself. But when the bulk
becomes collectively thrust downwards, and again receives equa¬
bility and smoothness of parts, then 1 fire, the artificer of in¬
equality, departing, the whole mass passes into a sameness with
itself. And this departure of fire we denominate refrigeration;
but the coalition which takes place when fire is absent we call a
concretion, and cold rigidity. But among all those which we
denominate fusile waters, that which, becoming most dense from
the most attenuated and equable parts, is of a uniform kind, and
participates a splendid and yellow colour, is that most honoured
and valuable possession gold, which is usually impelled through
a rock. And a branch of gold, on account of its density most hard
and black, is called a diamond. But that which contains parts
proximate to gold, which possesses more than one species, sur¬
passes gold in density, and participates but a small and attenu¬
ated part of earth, so that it becomes of a harder nature, but
from its internally possessing great intervals is lighter;—this is

1 Instead of oute, in this part read 5te.

180

one kind of splendid and concrete waters, and is denominated
brass. But when an earthly nature, being mingled with this, is
through antiquity separated from other parts of the brass, and
becomes of itself conspicuous, it is then denominated rust. In a
similar manner other particulars of this nature may be investi¬
gated without much labour by the assistance of assimilative
reasons. And if any one, for the sake of relaxation, omitting
for a while the speculation of eternal beings, should pursue the
assimilative arguments concerning generation, and should by this
means possess a pleasure unattended with repentance, such a one
will establish for himself in life a moderate and prudent diver¬
sion.

This being admitted, let us run over the assimilative reasons
concerning the particulars which yet remain for discussion.
When such water then as is attenuated and moist is mingled
with fire, (being denominated moist through its motion and
rolling progression on the earth, and likewise soft, because its
bases being less stable than those of earth easily yield to impul¬
sion,) this, when separated from fire and deserted by air, becomes
more equable, and through the departure of these is compelled
into itself: and being thus collected, if it suffers this alteration
above the earth, it becomes hail; but if upon the earth, ice;
which then takes place in consequence of extreme congelation.
But when it is less congealed, if this happens above the earth, it
becomes snow; but when upon the earth, and this from collected
dew, it then becomes frost. But when many species of water are
mingled with each other, the whole kind, which is strained from
the earth through plants, is called moisture or liquor. These
liquors, being dissimilar on account of their mixtures, exhibit
many other nameless kinds: but four, which are of a fiery species,
and which become in an eminent degree diaphanous, are al¬
lotted appellations. And that which heats the soul in conjunction
with the body is called wine. But that which is smooth, and
segregative of the sight, and on this account splendid, refulgent,
and unctuous to the view, is an oleaginous species, and is pitch,

181

giim, oil, and other things endued with a similar power. Again,
that which possesses a power of diffusing the things collected
about the mouth, and this as far as nature will permit, at the same
time bringing sweetness with its power, is generally denominated
honey. And lastly, that which dissolves the flesh by burning, is
of a frothy nature, and is secreted from all liquors, is called juice.
But the species of earth strained through water produces a stony
body in the following manner:—When collected water fails in
mingling, it passes into the form of air; but, becoming air, it
returns to its proper place. Hence, as there is no vacuum, it
impels the proximate air; and this, if the impulsion is weighty,
being poured round the bulk of earth, becomes vehemently com¬
pressed, and betakes itself to those seats from whence the new
air ascended. But earth, when indissolubly associated with water,
through the ministry of air composes stones: the more beautiful
sort indeed being such as are resplendent from equal and plane
parts, but the deformed being of a contrary composition. But
when all the moisture is hurried away by the violence of fire,
and the body by this means becomes more dry, then a species of
earth which is denominated fictile is produced. Sometimes, like¬
wise, when the moisture is left behind, and the earth becomes
fusile through fire, then through refrigeration a stone with a
black colour is generated. But when this species of strained earth
in a similar manner through mixture is deprived of much mois¬
ture, but is composed from more attenuated parts of earth, is salt
and semiconcrete, and again emerges through water; then it is
partly called nitre, a cathartic kind of oil, and earth, and partly
salt, a substance most elegantly and legitimately adapted to the
common wants of the body, and most grateful to divinity. But
the parts common to both these are not soluble by water, but
through some such thing are thus collected together by fire.
Again, fire and air do not liquefy the bulk of earth. For since
these naturally consist of parts smaller than the void spaces
of earth, they permeate through its most capacious pores with¬
out any violence, and neither subject it to dissolution nor lique-

182

faction. But the parts of water, because they are greater and
pass along with violence, dissolve and liquefy the mass of earth.
Hence, water alone dissolves earth when violently composed, but
fire alone when it is properly composed; for an entrance in this
case is afforded to nothing but fire.

Again, fire alone permeates the most violent association of the
parts of water; but both fire and air diffuse themselves through its
more debile collection; air through its void, and fire through its
triangular spaces. But nothing is capable of dissolving air when
collected together by violence, except it operates according to an
element: but when it coheres together without force, it is re¬
solved by fire alone. Again, bodies which are so composed from
water and earth that the water compressed by force obstructs the
void spaces of earth, cannot in this case afford an ingress to the
water externally approaching; and in consequence of this, the
water flowing round such a body suffers the whole mass to re¬
main without liquefaction. But the parts of fire entering into
the void spaces of water, as water into those of earth, and influenc¬
ing water in the same manner as fire influences air, become in
this case the causes of liquefaction to a common body. But these
partly possess less water than earth; such as the whole genus of
glass, and such stones as are denominated fusile: and partly, on
the contrary, they possess more of water; such as all those bodies
which coalesce into waxen and vaporific substances. And thus
we have nearly exhibited all those species, which are varied by
figures, communications and mutations into each other; but it is
now necessary that we should endeavour to render apparent the
causes through which the passions of these are produced.

In the first place, then, sense ought always to be present with
discourses of this kind. But we have not yet run through the
generation of flesh, and such things as pertain to flesh, together
with that part of the soul which is mortal. For all these are
inseparable from the passions subsisting with sense, and cannot
without these passions be sufficiently explained; though, indeed,
even in conjunction with these, it is scarcely possible to unfold

183

their production. We should, therefore, first of all establish
other things; and then consider such things as are consequent to
these. That in our disputation, therefore, the passions them¬
selves may follow the genera in succession, let our first investi¬
gations be concerning such things as pertain to body and soul.
Let us then first of all inquire why fire is called hot. And the
reason of this we shall be able to perceive by considering the sepa¬
ration and division of fire about our bodies: for that this passion
is a certain sharpness is nearly evident to all. But we ought to
consider the tenuity of its angles, the sharpness of its sides, the
smallness of its parts, and the velocity of its motion, through all
which it becomes vehement and penetrating, and swiftly divides
that with which it meets; calling to mind for this purpose the
generation of its figure. For fire, indeed, and no other nature,
separating our bodies and distributing them into small parts,
produces in us that passion which is very properly denominated
heat. But the passioii contrary to this, though sufficiently mani¬
fest, ought not to pass without an explanation. For the moist
parts of bodies larger than our humid parts, entering into our
bodies, expel the smaller parts; but, not being able to penetrate
into their receptacles, coagulate our moisture, and cause it
through equability to pass from an unequable and agitated state
into one immovable and collected. But that which is collected
together contrary to nature, naturally opposes such a condition,
and endeavours by repulsion to recall itself into a contrary situa¬
tion. In this contest and agitation a trembling and numbness
takes place; and all this passion, together with that which pro¬
duces it, is denominated cold. But we call that hard to which
our flesh gives way; and soft, which yields to the pressure of our
flesh. And we thus denominate them with reference to each
other. But every thing yields to pressure which is established on
a small base. But that which rests on triangular bases, on
account of its being vehemently firm, is of a most resisting nature;
and, because it is dense in the highest degree, strongly repels
all opposing pressure.

184

Again, the nature of heavy and light will become eminently
apparent, when investigated together with upwards and down¬
wards. But indeed it is by no means rightly asserted that there
are naturally two certain places distant by a long interval from
each other: one denominated downwards, to which all bodies
tend endued with bulk, but the other upwards, to which every
thing is involuntarily impelled. For, the whole universe being
spherical, all such things as by an equal departure from the
middle become extremes, ought to become naturally extremes
in a similar manner. But the middle, being separated from the
extremes according to the same measures, ought to be considered
as in a situation just opposite to all things. Such, then, being the
natural disposition of the world, he who places any one of the
above-mentioned particulars either upwards or downwards, will
justly appear by such appellations to wander from the truth.
For the middle place in the universe cannot be properly called
either naturally downwards or upwards, but can only be de¬
nominated that which is the middle. But that which environs is
neither the middle, nor contains any parts in itself differing from
each other with reference to the middle, nor does it possess any
thing corresponding to an opposite direction. But to that which
is every way naturally similar how can any one with propriety
attribute contrary names? For, if there be any thing solid, and
endued with equal powers, in the middle of the universe, it will
never tend to any part of the extremities, through the perfect
similitude which they every where possess. But if any one
moves about this solid in a circle, he will often stand with his
feet in opposite directions, and will denominate the same part
of himself both upwards and downwards. Since the universe,
therefore, as we have just observed, is of a spherical figure, it is
not the part of a prudent man to assert that it has any place which
is either upwards or downwards. But from whence these names
originate, and, in what things existing, we transfer them from
thence to the universe, it is our business at present to investigate.
If any one then should be seated in that region of the world

185

which for the most part belongs to the naiuic ur tire, and to which
it on all sides tends, and if such a one should acquire a power of
taking away the parts of fire, and of causing them to balance;
or, placing the parts in a scale, should violently seize on the
beam, and, drawing out the fire, hurl it downwards into dis¬
similar air—it is evident that in this case a less portion of fire
would be more easily compelled than a greater. For, when
two things are at the same time suspended from one power, it is
necessary that the less quantity should more easily, and the greater
with less readiness, yield to the oppressive force. Hence, the one
is called heavy, and tending downwards; but the other light, and
tending upwards. The same thing happens to us who inhabit this
terrestrial region. For, walking on the earth, and separating
the terrene genera from each other, we sometimes violently
hurl a fragment of earth into its dissimilar the air, and this with
a motion contrary to its nature; each region at the same time
retaining that to which it is allied. But the less portion, being
more easily impelled into a dissimilar place than the larger,
first of all yields to the violence: and this we denominate light,
and call the place into which it is violently hurled, upwards.
But the passion contrary to this we denominate heavy and down¬
wards. Hence it is necessary that these should mutually differ
from each other; and this through the multitude of genera ob¬
taining contrary situations. For that which is light in one place
is contrary to that which is light in a contrary situation: like¬
wise the heavy to the heavy, the downward to the downward, and
the upward to the upward. For all these will be found to be con¬
trary, transverse, and every way different from each other. One
thing however is to be understood concerning all these, that the
progression of each, tending to its kindred nature, renders the
proceeding body heavy, and the place to which it tends, down¬
wards. But this progression influences in a different manner such
as are differently affected. And thus have I unfolded the causes of
these passions.

But again, any one who beholds the cause of the passion of

186

smoothness and roughness may be able to disclose it to others.
For hardness mingled with inequality produces the one, and
equality with density the other. But among the common passions
which subsist about the whole body, that is the greatest which
is the cause of pleasure and pain: to which may be added, such
as through the parts of the body detain the senses, and have in
these pleasures and pains as their attendants. In this manner,
then, we should receive the causes of every passion, both sensible
and insensible, calling to mind the distinctions which we for¬
merly established concerning the easily and difficultly movable
nature. For in this manner we ought to pursue all such things
as we design to apprehend. Thus, with respect to that which is
naturally easily movable, when any slender passion falls upon
it, the several parts give themselves up to each other in a circular
progression, producing the same effect; till, having arrived at
the seat of prudence, they announce the power of that by which
the passion was induced. But that which is affected in a contrary
manner, being stable and without a circular progression, alone
suffers; but does not move any of the parts to which it is proxi¬
mate. Hence, the parts not mutually giving themselves up to
each other, and the first passion in them becoming immovable
with respect to the whole animal, that which suffers is rendered
void of sensation. This last case indeed happens about the bones
and hairs, and such other parts of our composition as are mostly
terrene. But the circumstances belonging to the easily movable
nature take place about the instruments of sight and hearing,
through their containing the most abundant power of fire and
air. But it is necessary to consider the peculiarities of pleasure
and pain as follows:—When a passion is produced in us contrary
to nature, and with violence and abundance, then it becomes the
occasion of pain. And again, when a passion conformable to our
nature is excited, and this with abundance, it causes pleasure and
delight. But that which is contrary to these produces contrary
effects. But a passion, the whole of which is induced with great
facility, is eminently indeed the object of sensation, but does not

187

participate of pleasure and pain. And of this kind are the
passions subsisting about the sight; to which, as we have above
asserted, our body is allied. For such objects as exhibit sections
and burnings, and other passions of a similar kind, do not cause
pain to the sight; nor, again, does the sight receive pleasure when
it is restored to the same form as before. But the most vehement
and clear sensations influence it with pain, so far as it suffers any
thing, strikes against, or comes into contact with, any object.
For no violence subsists in the separation or concretion of the
sight. But such bodies as are composed from larger parts, and
which scarcely yield to impulsion, when they transfer the induced
motions to the whole body, contain in themselves pleasures and
pains; when varied, indeed, pains, but, when restored to their
pristine situation, pleasures. Again, whatever bodies in a small
degree receive departures and evacuations of themselves, ac¬
companied at the same time with abundant repletions,—since
such bodies have no sense of evacuation, but are sensible of
repletion, they do not affect the mortal part of the soul with any
pain, but, on the contrary, influence it with the greatest delight.
And the truth of this is manifest from the sensation of sweet
odours. But such bodies as suffer an abundant variation, and
are scarce able to be restored in a small degree to their pristine
situation, are totally affected in a manner contrary to those we
have just described. And the truth of this is manifest in the burn¬
ings and sections of the body. And thus have we nearly discussed
the common passions of the whole body, and the appellations as¬
signed to the causes by which they are produced.

Let us now endeavour to explain those passions which take
place in particular parts of our bodies, and relate from whence
they arise, and by what causes they are induced. In the first place,
let us if possible complete what we formerly left unfinished con¬
cerning humours; since these are passions subsisting about the
tongue. But these, as well as many other things, appear to be
produced by certain separations and concretions; and, besides
this, to employ smoothness and roughness more than the rest.

188

For certain small veins extend themselves from the tongue to
the heart, and are the messengers of tastes. And when any
thing falls upon these so as to penetrate the moist and delicate
texture of the flesh, which through its terrestrial nature is
moderately liquefied, it then contracts and dries the veins.
Hence, if these penetrating substances are of a more rough na¬
ture, they produce a sharp taste; but, if less rough, a sour taste.
But such things as are purgative of these veins, and which wash
away whatever is found adhering to the tongue, if they accom¬
plish this in an immoderate degree, so as to liquefy something
of the nature of the tongue, such as is the power of nitre;-all
such as these are denominated bitter. But whatever is subordi¬
nate to this property of nitre, and purges in a more moderate
degree, appears to us to be salt, without the roughness of bitter¬
ness, and to be more friendly to our nature. Again, such things
as, communicating with the heat of the mouth, and being
rendered smooth by it, heat also in their turn the mouth—and
which through their lightness are elevated towards the senses
of the head, at the same time dividing whatever they meet with
in their ascent;—all these, through powers of this kind, are de¬
nominated sharp. But sometimes these several particulars, be¬
coming attenuated through rottenness, enter into the narrow
veins, and compel the interior parts, as well the terrene as those
containing the symmetry of air, to be mingled together by mov¬
ing about each other; and when mingled cause some of the parts
to glide around, some to enter into others, and when entered
to render them hollow and extended; and this in the place where
a hollow moisture is extended about the air. This moisture too
being at one time terrene and at another pure, a moist orbicular
receptacle of air is produced from the hollow water. But that
which is produced from pure water is on all sides diaphanous,
and is called a bubble. On the contrary, that which owes its
subsistence to a more earthly moisture, and which is at the same
time agitated and elevated, is denominated fervid, and a fer¬
mentation. But the cause of all these passions receives the ap-

pellation of acute. And a passion contrary to all that has been
asserted concerning these proceeds from a contrary cause. But
when the composition of the things entering into moist sub¬
stances is naturally accommodated to the quality of the tongue,
it polishes and anoints its asperities, and collects together or
relaxes such parts as were either assembled or dissipated con¬
trary to nature, and restores them to their proper and natural
habit. Hence, all such substances are pleasant and friendly to
every one, become the remedies of violent passions, and are de¬
nominated sweet. And thus much may suffice concerning par¬
ticulars of this kind.

There are, however, no species about the power of the nostrils:
for all odours are but half begotten. But it happens to no species
to be commensurate with any odour. And our veins, with respect
to particulars of this kind, are too narrow to admit the genera of
earth and water, and too broad to receive those of fire and air;
and hence no one ever perceives an odour of any one of these.
But odours are always produced from the madefaction, corrup¬
tion, liquefaction or evaporation of the elements. For, water be¬
coming changed into air, and air into water, odours are generated
in the middle of these. And all odours are either smoke or mists.
But, of these, that which passes from air into water is a mist; but
that which is changed from water into air, smoke. And hence
it comes to pass that all odours are more attenuated than water,
and more dense than air. But the truth of this is sufficiently evi¬
dent when any one, in consequence of a disagreeable smell, vio¬
lently draws his breath inwards; for then no odour is washed off,
but breath alone follows unattended by smell. On this account,
the varieties of these subsist without a name; as they are neither
composed from many nor from simple species. But two of these
alone receive an appellation, the pleasant and the disagreeable:
the latter of which disturbs and violently assaults all that cavity
which lies between the top of the head and the navel; but the
former allures this part of the body, and by its amicable ingress
preserves it in a condition accommodated to its nature. But we

ought to consider the third sensitive part of our composition,
hearing, in such a manner that we may explain through what
causes the passions with which it is conversant subsist. We ought,
therefore, entirely to define voice a certain pulsation of the air,
penetrating through the ears, brain, and blood, as far as to the
soul: and we should call the motion arising from hence, which
commences from the head and ends in the seat of the liver, hear¬
ing. When this motion is swift, a sharp sound is produced; but,
when slow, a flat sound. And the former of these is equal and
smooth, but the latter rough. Many voices too produce a great
sound, but a small sound is the result of a few. But it is necessary
that we should speak about the symphonies of these in the subse¬
quent part of this discourse. The fourth sensitive genus now
remains for our discussion; which contains in itself an abundant
variety, all which are denominated colours. But colour is a flame
flowing from bodies, and possessing parts commensurate to the
sight with respect to perception. But we have already considered
the causes from which sight is produced. It appears then that
we may now speak of colours according to assimilative reasons
as follows:

Of things which, proceeding from other parts, fall on the
sight, some are greater, others less, and others equal to the parts
of the sight. Such as are equal, therefore, cannot be perceived;
and these we denominate diaphanous. But, among such as are
larger or smaller, some of these separate, but others mingle the
sight, similar to the operations of heat and cold about the flesh,
or to things sour, acute and hot about the tongue. But things
which affect the sight in this manner are called black and white;
which are indeed the passions of those particulars we have just
related, being their sisters, as it were, and the same with them
in a different genus; but which, nevertheless, through these
causes appear to be different. We should, therefore, speak of
them as follows:—That the colour which is segregative of the
sight is white; but that which produces an effect contrary to this,
black. But when a more acute motion, and of a different kind of

fire, falls upon and separates the sight, as far as to the eyes, at the
same time violently propelling and liquefying the transitions of
the eyes, then a collected substance of fire and water flows from
thence, which we denominate a tear; but the motion itself is a
fire meeting with the sight in an opposite direction. And,
indeed, when a fire, leaping as it were from a certain corrusca-
tion, becomes mingled with another fire, penetrating and ex¬
tinguished by moisture, from this mixture colours of all-various
kinds are produced. In this case we call the passion a vibrating
splendour, and that which produces it fulgid and rutilating.
But a kind of fire which subsists in the middle of these, arriving
at the moisture of the eyes, and becoming mingled w'ith it, is
by no means splendid: but in consequence of the rays of fire
being mingled through moisture, and producing a bloody colour,
we denominate the mixture red. And when splendour is
mingled with red and white, it generates a yellow colour. But
to relate in what measure each of these is mingled with each, :is
not the business of one endued with intellect, even though he
were well informed in this affair; since he would not be able
to produce concerning these either a necessary or an assimilative
reason. But red, when mingled with black and white, produces
a purple colour. And when to these, mingled and burnt together,
more of black is added, a more obscure colour is produced. A
ruddy colour is generated from the mixture of yellow and
brown; but brown from the mixture of black and white. A pallid
colour arises from the mingling of white and yellow. But that
which is splendid conjoined with white, and falling upon
abundance of black, gives completion to an azure colour. And
azure mingled with white generates a gray colour. But from the
temperament of a ruddy colour with black, green is produced.
All the rest will be nearly evident from these, to any one who,
imitating the former mixtures, preserves assimilative reasons in
his discourse. But if any one undertakes the investigation of
these, for the sake of the things themselves, such a one must be
ignorant of the difference between a divine and human nature:

192

since a God is indeed sufficient for the purpose of mingling many
things into one, and of again dissolving the one into many, as
being at the same time both knowing and able: but there is no
man at present who is able to accomplish either of these under¬
takings, nor will there ever be one in any future circulation of
time. But all these which thus naturally subsist from necessity,
were assumed in the things which are generated by the artificer
of that which is most beautiful and best, when he produced a
self-sufficient and most perfect God; employing, indeed, causes
which are subservient to these, but operating himself in the best
manner in all generated natures. On this account it is requisite
to distinguish two species of causes; the one necessary, but the
other divine. And we should inquire after the divine cause in
all things, for the sake of obtaining a blessed life in as great a
degree as our nature is capable of receiving it; but we should
investigate the necessary cause for the sake of that which is
divine. For we should consider, that without these two species
of causes, the objects of our pursuit can neither be understood
nor apprehended, nor in any other way become participated.
But since to us at present, as to artificers, matter lies in subjec¬
tion, the genera of causes serving as prepared materials from
which the remaining discourse is to be woven, let us again return
with brevity to our first discussions, and swiftly pass from thence
to the place at which we are now arrived; by this means en¬
deavouring to establish an end and summit to our disputation,
which may harmonize with its beginning.

Indeed, as we asserted towards the commencement of our
discourse, when all sensible natures were in a disordered state
of subsistence, Divinity rendered each commensurate with itself,
and all with one another, and connected them as much as pos¬
sible with the bands of analogy and symmetry. For then nothing
participated of order except by accident; nor could any thing
with propriety be distinguished by the appellation which it re¬
ceives at present, such for instance as fire, water, and the rest of
this kind. But the demiurgus in the first place adorned all these,

1 93

afterwards established the world from their conjunction, and
rendered it one animal, containing in itself all mortal and im¬
mortal animals. And of divine natures, indeed, he himself be¬
came the author; but he delivered to his offspring the junior
Gods the fabrication of mortal natures. Hence, these imitating
their father’s power, and receiving the immortal principle of
the soul, fashioned posterior to this the mortal body, assigned the
whole body as a vehicle to the soul, and fabricated in it another
mortal species of soul, possessing dire and necessary passions
through its union with the body. The first indeed of these passions
is pleasure, which is the greatest allurement to evil; but the next
is pain, which is the exile of good. After these follow boldness
and fear, those mad advisers; anger, hard to be appeased; hope,
which is easily deceived; together with irrational sense, and love,
the general invader of all things. In consequence, therefore, of
mingling these together, the junior Gods necessarily composed
the mortal race. And religiously fearing lest the divine nature
should be defiled through this rout of molestations more than
extreme necessity required, they lodged the mortal part, separate
from the divine, in a different receptacle of the body; fabricating
the head and breast, and placing the neck between as an isthmus
and boundary, that the two extremes might be separate from
each other.

In the breast, therefore, and that which is called the thorax,
they seated the mortal genus of the soul. And as one part of it is
naturally better, but another naturally worse, they fabricated
the cavity of the thorax; distributing this receptacle in the
woman different from that of the man, and placing in the middle
of these the midriff or diaphragm. That part of the soul, there¬
fore, which participates of fortitude and anger, and is fond of
contention, they seated nearer the head, between the midriff and
the neck; that becoming obedient to reason, and uniting with it:
in amicable conjunction, it might together with reason forcibly
repress the race of desires, whenever they should be found un¬
willing to obey the mandates of reason, issuing her orders from

194

her lofty place of abode. But they established the heart, which is
both the fountain of the veins, and of the blood, which is vehe¬
mently impelled through all the members of the body in a circu ¬
lar progression , in an habitation corresponding to that of a
satellite; that when the irascible part becomes inflamed, reason
at the same time announcing that some unjust action has taken
place externally, or has been performed by some one of the in¬
ward desires, then every thing sensitive in the body may swiftly
through all the narrow pores perceive the threatenings and ex¬
hortations, may be in every respect obedient, and may thus per¬
mit that which is the best in all these to maintain the sovereign
command.

But as the Gods previously knew that the palpitation of the
heart in the expectation of dreadful events, and the effervescence
of anger, and every kind of wrathful inflation, would be pro¬
duced by fire, they implanted in the body the idea of the lungs,
artificially producing them as a guardian to the heart. And, in
the first place, they rendered them soft and bloodless, and after¬
wards internally perforated with hollow pipes like a sponge;
that through their receiving spirit and imbibing moisture, they
might become themselves refrigerated, and might afford respira¬
tion and remission to the heart in its excessive heat. Hence they
deduced the arteries as so many canals through the substance of
the lungs; and placed the lungs like a soft thicket round the
heart, that when anger rages in it with too much vehemence it
may leap into submission, and becoming refrigerated may be
subject to less endurance, and may be able together with anger
to yield with greater facility to the authority of reason. But they
seated that part of the soul which is desiderative of meats and
drinks, and such other things as it requires through the nature
of body, between the praecordia and the boundary about the
navel; fabricating all this place as a manger subservient to the
nutriment of the body, and binding in it this part of the soul as
a rustic and savage animal. But it is necessary that this part
should nourish its conjoined body, if the mortal race has a neces-

195

sary existence in the nature of things. That this part, therefore,
might be always fed at the manger, and might dwell remote from
the deliberative part, molesting it in the smallest degree with its
tumults and clamours, and permitting it, as that which is most
excellent in our composition, to consult in quiet for the common
utility of the whole animal; on this account the Gods assigned it
such a subordinate situation.

However, as the Divinity perceived that this part would not
be obedient to reason, but that it would naturally reject its
authority in consequence of every sensible impression, and
would be animastically hurried away by images and phantasms
both by day and night—considering this, he constituted the form,
of the liver, and placed it in the habitation of this desiderative
part; composing it dense and smooth, splendid and sweet, and
at the same time mingled with bitterness; that the power of cogi¬
tations, descending from intellect into the liver as into a mirror
receiving various resemblances and exhibiting images to the
view, might at one time terrify this irrational nature by employ¬
ing a kindred part of bitterness and introducing dreadful threats,
so that the whole liver being gradually mingled might represent
bilious colours, and becoming contracted might be rendered
throughout wrinkled and rough; and that, besides this, it might
influence its lobe, ventricle, and gates, in such a manner, that
by distorting and twisting some of these from their proper dis¬
position, and obstructing and shutting in others, it might be the
cause of damages and pains. And again, that at another time a
certain inspiration of gentleness from the dianoetic power, by
describing contrary phantasms and affording rest to bitterness,
through its being unwilling either to excite or apply itself to a
nature contrary to its own; and besides this, by employing the
innate sweetness of the liver, and rendering all its parts properly
disposed, smooth, and free, might cause that part of the soul
which resides about the liver to become peaceful and happy, so
that it might even refrain from excess in the night, and employ
prophetic energies in sleep: since it does not participate of rea-

son and prudence. For those who composed 11s, calling to mind
the mandate of their father, that they should render the mortal
race as far as possible the best, so constituted the depraved part
of our nature that it might become connected with truth; estab¬
lishing in this part a prophetic knowledge of future events. But
that Divinity assigned divination to human madness may be
sufficiently inferred from hence; that no one while endued with
intellect becomes connected with a divine and true prophecy;
but this alone takes place either when the power of prudence is
fettered by sleep, or suffers some mutation through disease, or a
certain enthusiastic energy: it being in this case the employment
of prudence to understand what was asserted either sleeping or
waking by a prophetic and enthusiastic nature; and so to dis¬
tinguish all the phantastic appearances as to be able to explain
what and to whom anything of future, past, or present good is
portended. But it is by no means the office of that which abides
and it still about to abide in this enthusiastic energy, to judge of
itself either concerning the appearances or vociferations. Hence
it was well said by the ancients, that to transact and know his own
concerns and himself, is alone the province of a prudent man.
And on this account the law orders that the race of prophets
should preside as judges over divine predictions; who are indeed
called by some diviners—but this in consequence of being igno¬
rant that such men are interpreters of ^enigmatical visions and
predictions, and on this account should not be called diviners,
but rather prophets of divinations. The nature, therefore, of the
liver was produced on this account, and seated in the place we
have mentioned, viz. for the sake of prediction. And besides this,
while each of such like parts is living, it possesses clearer indica¬
tions; but when deprived of life it then becomes blind, and the
divination is rendered too obscure to signify any thing sufficiently
clear. But an intestine which subsists for the sake of the liver, is
placed near it on the left hand, that it may always render the
liver splendid and pure, and prepared like a mirror for the apt
reception of resemblant forms. On this account, when certain

*97

impurities are produced about the liver through bodily disease,
then the spleen, purifying these by its rarity, receives them into
itself from its being of a hollow and bloodless contexture. Hence,
being filled with purgations, it increases in bulk, and becomes
inflated with corruption. And again, when the body is purified,
then becoming depressed it subsides into the same condition as
before. And thus we have spoken concerning both the mortal
and divine part of the soul, and have related where they are situ¬
ated, in conjunction with what natures, and why they are sepa¬
rated from each other. That all this indeed is unfolded accord¬
ing to indisputable truth, can only be asserted when confirmed
by the vocal attestation of a God: but that it is spoken according
to assimilative reasons, we should not hesitate to evince both now
and hereafter by a more diligent discussion of what remains.

It is proper to investigate in a similar manner the subsequent
part of our disputation; and this is no other than to relate how
the other members of the body were produced. It is becoming,
therefore, in the most eminent degree that they should be com¬
posed as follows: Those artificers then of our race well knew that
we should be intemperate in the assumption of meats and drinks,
and that we should often through gluttony use more than was
moderate and necessary. Hence, lest sudden destruction should
take place through disease, and the mortal race thus becoming
imperfect should presently cease to exist; the Gods previously
perceiving this consequence, fabricated in the lower parts a
hollow receptacle for the purpose of receiving a superabundance
of solid and liquid aliment; and, besides this, invested it with the
spiral folds of the intestines, lest, the assumed nutriment swiftly
passing away, the body should as swiftly require an accession of
new aliment; and, by producing an insatiable appetite through
gluttony, should render our whole race void of philosophy and
the muses, and unobedient to the most divine part of our com¬
position. But the nature of the bones and flesh, and other things
of this kind, was constituted as follows: In the first place, the
generation of the marrow serves as a principle to all these. For

the bonds of that life which the soul leads through its conjunc¬
tion with the body, being woven together in the marrow, become
the stable roots of the mortal race. But the marrow itself is gen¬
erated from other particulars. For, among the triangles, such as
are first, being unbent and smooth, were particularly accommo¬
dated to the generation of fire and water, air and earth; and the
Divinity separating each of these apart from their genera, and
mingling them commensurate with each other, composing by
this means an all-various mixture of seeds for the mortal race,
produced from these the nature of the marrow. But afterwards
disseminating in the marrow, he bound in it the genera of souls.
Besides, in this first distribution, he immediately separated as
many figures and of such kinds as it was requisite the marrow
should possess. And he fashioned indeed that part of the mar¬
row in which as in a cultivated field the divine seed was to be
sown, every way globular, and called it erxecpaXov, or the brain;
because in every animal, when it has acquired the perfection of
its form, the receptacle of this substance is denominated the
head. But he distinguished with round and at the same time
oblong figures, that receptacle of the body which was destined
to contain the remaining and mortal part of the soul; and was
willing that the whole should receive the appellation of mar¬
row. And besides this, hurling from these as anchors the bonds
of all the soul, he fabricated the whole of our body about the
substance of the marrow, and invested it on all sides with a cover¬
ing of bones.

But he thus composed the nature of the bones. In the first
place, bruising together pure and smooth earth, he mingled and
moistened it with marrow; after this he placed it in fire, then
merged it in water, then again seated it in fire, and after this
dipped it in water. And thus, by often transferring it into each,
he rendered it incapable of being liquefied by both. Employing
therefore this nature of bone, he fashioned like one working with
a wheel a bony sphere, and placed it round the brain; leaving a
narrow passage in the sphere itself. And besides this, forming

199

certain vertebras from bone about the marrow of the neck and
back, he extended them like hinges, commencing from the head
and proceeding through the whole cavity of the body. And thus
he preserved all the seed, by fortifying it round about with a
stony vestment. He likewise added joints, for the purpose of mo¬
tion and inflection, employing the nature of that which is dis¬
tinguished by difference in their fabrication, as this is endued with
a certain middle capacity. But, as he thought that the habit of the
bony nature would become more dry and inflexible than it ought
to be, and that, when it became heated and again cooled, it
would in consequence of ulceration swiftly corrupt the seed
which it contained, on this account he fashioned the genus of
nerves and flesh; that the nerves, by binding all the other mem¬
bers, and becoming stretched and remitted about those hinges
the vertebrae, might render the body apt to become inflected and
extended as occasion required: but that the flesh might serve as
a covering from the heat and a protection from the cold; and,
besides this, might defend it from falls, in the same manner as
external supports, gently and easily yielding to the motions of
the body. He likewise placed a hot moisture in the nature of the
flesh, that, becoming in summer externally dewy and moist, it
might afford a kindred refrigeration to the whole body; and
that again in winter, through its own proper fire, it might mod¬
erately repel the externally introduced and surrounding cold.
When, therefore, the plastic artificer of our bodies had perceived
all this through a dianoetic energy, having mingled and harmo¬
nized together water, fire, and earth, and added to the mixture a
sharp and salt ferment, he gradually composed soft and succu¬
lent flesh.

But he mingled the nature of the nerves from bone and un¬
fermented flesh, composing one middle substance from the
power of both, and tingeing it with a yellow colour. And on this
account it comes to pass that the power of the nerves is more
intense and viscous than that of the flesh, but more soft and moist
than that of the bones. Hence, the Divinity bound the bones and

200

marrow to each other with the nerves, and afterwards invested
them all supernally with the flesh, as with a dark concealing
shade. Such of the bones, therefore, as were the most animated
he covered with the least flesh; but such as were the least ani¬
mated he invested with flesh the most abundant and dense. And,
besides this, he added but a small quantity of flesh to the joints
of the bones, except where reason evinces the necessity of the con¬
trary: and this lest they should be a hindrance to the inflections,
and retard the motions of the body; and again, lest in conse¬
quence of their being many and dense, and vehemently com¬
pressed in one another, they should cause through their solidity
a privation of sense, a difficulty of recollection, and a remission
of the dianoetic energy. On this account he invested with abun¬
dance of flesh the bones of the groin, legs, loins, the upper part
of the arms, and that part which extends from the elbow to the
wrist, and such other parts of our bodies as are without articula¬
tion, together with such inward bones as through the paucity of
soul in the marrow are destitute of a prudential energy. But he
covered with a less quantity of flesh such bones as are endued with
prudence: unless, perhaps, the fleshy substance of the tongue,
which was produced for the sake of sensation, is to be excepted.
In other parts, the case is such as we have described. For a nature
which is generated and nourished from necessity can by no means
at one and the same time receive a dense bone and abundant
flesh, united with acuteness of sensation. But this would be most
eminently the case with the composition of the head, if all these
were willing to coalesce in amicable conjunction: and the human
race, possessing a fleshy, nervous, and robust head, would enjoy
a life twice as long, or still more abundantly extended, healthy
and unmolested, than that which we at present possess.

Again, in consequence of those artificers of our generation
considering whether they should fabricate our race possessing a
life more lasting indeed but of a worse condition, or of a shorter
extent but of a more excellent condition, it appeared to them
that a shorter but more excellent life was by all means to be pre-

201

ferred to one more lasting but of a subordinate condition. Hence
they covered the head with a thin bone, but did not invest it with
flesh and nerves, because it was destitute of inflections. On all
these accounts, therefore, the head was added to the body as the
most sensitive and prudent, but at the same time by far the most
imbecil part of all the man. But through these causes, and in this
manner, the Divinity placing the nerves about the extreme part
of the head, conglutinated them in a circle about the neck, (after
a certain similitude), and bound with them those lofty cheek¬
bones situated under the countenance; but he disseminated the
rest about all the members, connecting joint with joint. Besides,
those adorners of our race ornamented us with the power of the
mouth, teeth, tongue, and lips, and this for the sake of things
which are at the same time both necessary and the best; produc¬
ing ingression for the sake of necessaries, but egression for the
sake of such as are best. Every thing, indeed, which being intro¬
duced affords nutriment to the body, is necessary; but the stream
of words flowing forth externally, and becoming subservient to
prudence, is the most beautiful and best of all effluxions. Be¬
sides, it was not possible that the head could remain without any
other covering than that of a naked bone, through the extremi¬
ties of heat and cold in the different seasons; nor, again, could
it become the instrument of knowledge when invested with dark¬
ness, dulled, and without sensation, through the perturbation of
flesh. Hence, a part of a fleshy nature, not entirely dried, and
surpassing the residue, was separated from the rest; and which is
now denominated a membrane. This membrane passing into
union with itself, and blossoming about the moisture of the
brain, circularly invests the head. But the moisture flowing
under the sutures of the head irrigates this membrane, and, caus¬
ing it to close together at the crown, connects it, as it were, in a
knot. But an all-various species of sutures is generated through
the power of the circulations and the nutriment; the variety
becoming greater when these oppose each other with greater
violence, but less when they are in a state of less opposition. All

202

this membrane the divine artificer of our bodies circularly
pierced with fire. And hence, becoming as it were wounded, and
the moisture externally flowing through it, whatever is moist,
hot, and pure, passes away; but whatever is mingled from the
same natures as the membrane itself, this, in consequence of re¬
ceiving an external production, becomes extended into length,
and possesses a tenuity equal to the punctuation of the mem¬
brane. But this substance, from the slowness of its motion, being
continually thrust back by the externally surrounding spirit,
again revolves itself under the membrane, and there fixes the
roots of its progression. Hence, from these passions the race of
hairs springs up in the membrane of the head, being naturally
allied to, and becoming, as it were, the reins of this membrane,
at the same time that they are more hard and dense through the
compression of cold. For every hair, when it proceeds beyond
the membrane, becomes hardened through cold. After this man¬
ner, then, the artificer planted our head with hairs, employing
for this purpose the causes which we have mentioned.

But at the same time he understood by a dianoetic energy,
that instead of flesh a light covering was necessary for the security
of the brain; which might sufficiently shade and protect it like a
garment from the extremities of heat and cold, but by no means
hinder the acuteness of sensation. But that comprehension of
nerve, skin, and bone about the fingers, being a mixture of three
substances, and becoming of a drier nature, produced one com¬
mon hard membrane from the whole. These indeed were the
ministrant causes of its fabrication; but the most principal cause
consists in that cogitation which produced this membrane for
the sake of future advantage. For those artificers of our nature
well knew that at some time or other women and other animals
would be generated from men; and that nails would be of the
greatest advantage in many respects to the bestial tribes. Hence
they impressed in men the generation of nails, at the very period
of their production. But from this reason, and through these
causes, they planted the skin, hairs, and nails in the members

203

situated at the extremities of the body. However, as all the parts
and members of a mortal animal were generated in alliance with
each other, and necessarily possessed their life in the union of
fire and spirit, lest the animal becoming resolved and exhausted
by these should swiftly decay, the Gods devised the following
remedy:—For mingling a nature allied to the human with other
forms and senses, they planted, as it were, another animal; such
as those mild trees, plants, and seeds, which, being now brought
to perfection through the exercise of agriculture, are friendly to
our nature; though prior to this they were of a rustic kind, being
more ancient than such as are mild. For whatever participates
of life we may justly and with the greatest rectitude denominate
an animal. But this which we are now speaking of participates
the third species of soul, which we place between the praecordia
and the navel: and in which there is neither any thing of opinion,
reason, or intellect; but to which a pleasant and painful sense,
together with desires, belongs. For it continually suffers all
things. But when it is converted in itself, about itself, and, re¬
jecting external, employs its own proper motion, it is not allotted
by its generation a nature capable of considering its own con¬
cerns by any thing like a reasoning energy. On this account it
lives, and is not different from an animal; but, becoming stably
rooted, abides in a fixed position, through its being deprived of
a motion originating from itself.

But when those superior artificers of our composition had
implanted all these genera for the purpose of supplying nutri¬
ment to our nature, they deduced various channels in our body
as in a garden, that it might be irrigated as it were by the accession
of flowing moisture. And, in the first place, they cut two occult
channels under the concretion of the skin and flesh, viz. two veins
in the back, according to the double figure of the body on the
right hand and the left. These they placed with the spine of the
back, so as to receive the prolific marrow in the middle, that it
might thus flourish in the most eminent degree; and, by copi¬
ously flowing from hence to other parts, might afford an equable

204

irrigation. But after this, cutting the veins about the head, and
weaving them with each other in an opposite direction, they
separated them; inclining some from the right hand to the left
hand parts of the body, and some from the left to the right, that
the head, together with the skin, might be bound to the body, as
it is not circularly divided with nerves about its summit; and
besides this, that the passion of the senses might from each of
these parts be deduced on all sides through the whole of the
body. In this manner, then, they deduced an aqueduct from
hence; the truth of which we shall easily perceive by assenting
to the following position. That all such things as are composed
from lesser parts are able to contain such as are greater; but such
as consist from greater cannot invest those composed from lesser
parts. But fire, among all the genera of things, is constituted
from the smallest parts. Hence, it penetrates through water,
earth, and air, and the composites from these; and this in such a
manner, that nothing can restrain its pervading power. The
same must be understood of that ventricle our belly; that it is
able to retain the intromitted meat and drink, but cannot stay
spirit and fire, because these consist of smaller parts than those
from which the belly is composed. These, therefore, the Divinity
employed for the purpose of producing an irrigation from the
belly into the veins; weaving from fire and air a certain flexible
substance like a bow-net, and which possesses a twofold gibbos¬
ity at the entrance. One of these he again wove together, divided
into two parts; and circularly extended these parts from the
curvatures like ropes through the whole body, as far as to the
extremities of the net. All the interior parts therefore of the
net-work he composed from fire; but the gibbosities and the re¬
ceptacle itself from air. And lastly, receiving these, he disposed
them in the animal new formed as follows:—In the first place,
one of the gibbous parts he assigned to the mouth; but, as the
gibbosity of this part is twofold, he caused one part to pass
through the arteries into the lungs, but the other along with the
arteries into the belly. But having divided the other gibbous

205

part according to each of its parts, he caused it to pass in com¬
mon to the channels of the nose, so that, when the one part does
not reach the mouth, all its streams may be filled from this. But
he placed the other cavity of this gibbous substance about the
hollow parts of the body; and caused the whole of this at one
time to flow together gently into the gibbous parts, as they were
of an aerial texture, and at another time to flow back again
through the convex receptacles. But he so disposed the net, as
being composed from a thin body, that it might inwardly pene¬
trate and again emerge through this substance. Besides this, he
ordered that the interior rays of fire should follow in continued
succession, the air at the same time passing into each of the parts;
and that this should never cease to take place as long as the
mortal animal continued to subsist. But, in assigning an appel¬
lation to a motion of this kind, we denominate it expiration and
respiration. But all this operation and the whole of this passion
in our nature take place in the body by a certain irrigation and
refrigeration conducive to our nutriment and life. For, when
the breath passes inwardly and outwardly, an interior fire at¬
tends it in its course; and being diffused through the belly, when
it meets with solid and liquid aliments, it reduces them to a
state of fluidity; and, distributing them into the smallest parts,
educes them as from a fountain through the avenues of its pro¬
gression: pouring these small particles into the channels of the
veins, and deducing rivers through the body as through a valley
of veins.

But let us again consider the passion of respiration, and in¬
vestigate through what causes it was generated, such as we per¬
ceive it at present. We should consider it, therefore, as follows:—
As there is no such thing as a vacuum into which any thing in
motion can enter, and as breath passes from us externally, it is
evident to every one that it cannot proceed into a void space, but
must thrust that which is nearest to it from its proper seat; that
again the repulsed nature must always expel its neighbour; and
that from a necessity of this kind every thing which is impelled

206

into that seat from which the emitted breath is excluded, must,
when it has entered into and filled up this space, attend on the
breath in its progression. And all this must take place like the
revolution of a wheel, through the impossibility of a vacuum.
Hence, when the breast and the lungs externally dismiss the
breath, they are again replenished through the air which sur¬
rounds the body entering into and riding round the avenues of
the flesh. But the air being again externally dismissed, and flow¬
ing round the body, impels the respiration inward, through the
passages of the mouth and nostrils.

But we should establish the following as the cause from which
the origin of these was derived. Every animal belonging to the
universe possesses a heat in the veins and the blood, like a certain
fountain of fire; and this heat we compared to a bow-net, ex¬
tended through the middle of the body, and wholly woven from
fire; all such things as are external being composed from air.
But it must be confessed that heat naturally proceeds externally
into a region to which it is allied. But as there are two pro¬
gressions, one according to the body externally, but the other
again according to the mouth and nostrils, hence, when the
breath is impelled inward, it again thrusts back that by which it
was impelled. And that which is drawn back, meeting with fire,
becomes heated; while that which is exhaled becomes refriger¬
ated. In consequence, therefore, of the heat being changed, and
such things as subsist according to the other transition becom¬
ing more hot, and that again which is more fervid verging to its
own nature,—hence, one thing strikes against and repels another
in its course; and as they always suffer and mutually influence
each other in the same manner, leaping this way and that in a
circular progression, they give birth to the expiration and
respiration of the breath. But in this manner also we should in¬
vestigate the causes of those passions which arise from medical
cupping-glasses, from drinking, from things violently hurled,
whether upwards or on the ground; together with such sounds
as appear swift and slow, sharp and flat, and which are at one

207

time borne along unharmoniously, through the dissimilitude of
the motion which they cause within us, and at another time at¬
tended with harmony, through the similitude of motion which
they produce. For, the motions of such sounds as are prior and
swifter ceasing, and proceeding to a nature similar to their own,
are comprehended by such as are slower, which now succeed to
the swifter, and set them again in motion. But during their com¬
prehension of these they do not disturb them by introducing
another motion, but lead on the beginning of the slower lation
in conformity to that of the swifter. And these, adapting to
themselves a similitude of the ceasing motion, mingle together
one passion from the union of sharp and flat. From whence they
afford pleasure to the unwise, but joy to the wise, through the
imitation of divine harmony subsisting in mortal motions. And,
indeed, with respect to all effluxions of water, the falling of
thunder, and the wonderful circumstances observed in the at¬
traction of amber, and of the Herculean stone;—in all these,
nothing in reality of attraction takes place: but, as a vacuum
cannot any where be found, and these particulars mutually im¬
pel each other,—hence, from the individuals when separated and
mingled together tending to their proper seats, and from these
passions being interwoven with each other, such admirable
effects present themselves to the view of the accurate investiga¬
tor. And indeed respiration (from whence our discourse origi¬
nated) is generated from these causes, and after this manner, as
we asserted above. For fire, dividing the aliment and becoming
elevated internally, attending at the same time the breath in its
ascent, fills the veins from the belly by this joint elevation; and
this in consequence of drawing upwards from thence the dis¬
sected parts: so that by this means, through the whole body of
every animal, the streams of nutriment are abundantly diffused.
But the parts which are recently dissected and separated from
their kindred natures, some of which are fruits and others grass,
and which were produced by Divinity for the nourishment of
our bodies, possess all-various colours through their mixture

208

with each other: but for the most part a red colour predominates
in them, whose nature is fabricated from a section of fire, and
an abstersion in a moist substance. And hence, the colour of that
which flows about the body is such as appears to the sight, and
which we denominate blood; being the pasture of the flesh and
of the whole body; from whence an irrigation becoming every
where diffused, it copiously replenishes all the exhausted parts.

But the manner of impletion and evacuation is produced in
the same way as in the universe the lation of every thing takes
place, viz. from that cause through which every kindred nature
tends to itself. For the natures by which we are externally in¬
vested perpetually liquefy and distribute our bodies, dismissing
every species to its kindred form. But the sanguineous parts,
being distributed and comprehended within us, as is the case
with every animal constituted under the heavens, are compelled
to imitate the local motion of the universe. Each, therefore, of
the divided parts within us, being borne along to its kindred
nature, replenishes again that which is void. But when the
effluxions surpass the accessions, a corruption of the whole ani¬
mal ensues; and when the contrary takes place, it receives an
increase. The recent composition, therefore, of every animal
possessing new triangles, like ships formed from timbers unim¬
paired by age, causes a strong enclosure of them within each
other: but the whole of its delicate bulk unites in amicable con¬
junction, as being generated from most recent marrow, and
nourished in milk. Those triangles, therefore, from which the
liquid and solid aliments are composed, approaching externally,
and being received into the animal, as they are more ancient and
imbecil than its own proper triangles, are vanquished and cut
in pieces by the new triangles: and the animal is rendered of
a large size, through its being nourished from a multitude of
similar parts. But when it relaxes the root of its triangles, in con¬
sequence of becoming wearied and tamed, through many con¬
tests with many particulars in a long course of time; then it is no
longer able to reduce by section the received aliment into a

209

similitude of itself, but its own parts become easily dissipated
by the natures which are externally introduced. Hence the whole
animal, becoming by this means vanquished, decays; and the
passion itself is denominated old age. But the end of its exist¬
ence then arrives, when the jointly harmonized bonds of the
triangles about the marrow no longer possess a detaining power,
but becoming separated through the weariness of labour, desert
the bonds of the soul. The soul, however, in this case being con¬
cealed in a state according to nature, flies away with pleasure and
delight. For every thing contrary to nature is painful; but that
which happens naturally 1 $ pleasant. Hence, the death which is
produced through wounds and disease is painful and violent;
but that which is caused from old age, proceeding to an end ac¬
cording to nature, is of all deaths the most free from labour,
and is rather accompanied with pleasure than pain.

But it must be obvious to every one from whence diseases are
produced. For, since there are four genera from which the body
is composed, viz. earth, fire, water, and air, the unnatural
abundance and defect of these, and a translation from their own
proper to a foreign seat, in consequence of which each of these
does not receive that which is accommodated to its nature, to¬
gether with all such circumstances as these, produce contentions
and disease. For, each of these subsisting and being transferred
in a manner contrary to nature, such things as were formerly
heated become cold, such as were once dry become moist, such
as were light heavy, and every thing receives all possible muta¬
tions. For we assert that when the same thing approaches to, and
departs from, the same, in the same manner, and according to
analogy, then alone it permits that which is the same to abide
healthy and safe. But that which inordinately wanders, either in
acceding or departing, produces all-various mutations, diseases,
and infinite corruptions. Likewise a second apprehension of
diseases may be obtained by any one who is so disposed, from the
second compositions of things constituted according to nature.
For, since the concretion of marrow, bone, flesh, and nerve, is

210

derived from these, as likewise the blood, though from a differ¬
ent mode of coalition, hence many events happen in the same
manner as those we have mentioned above; but the greatest and
most severe diseases subsist as follows: When the generation of
these second compositions takes place inversely, then they be¬
come subject to corruption. For the flesh and nerves are naturally
generated from blood: the nerves indeed from fibres, through
the alliance subsisting between these; but the flesh from the
coalition of that which when separated from the fibres passes
into a state of concretion. But that substance again which arises
from nerves and flesh, being glutinous and fat, increases at the
same time by nutrition the flesh, which for the most part sub¬
sists about the nature of the bones; and likewise the bone itself,
with which the marrow is surrounded. And again, that which
trickles through the density of the bones, being the most pure
kind of the triangles, and the most smooth and unctuous, while
it drops and distils from the bones, irrigates the marrow. And
hence, when each particular subsists in this manner, a healthy
condition of body is produced; but a diseased condition when
the contrary is the case. For, when the flesh becoming liquefied
again transmits the consumption into the veins, then the blood,
together with spirit, becoming abundant and all-various in the
veins, diversified with colours and density, and infected with
acid and salt qualities, generates all-various bile, corruption,
and phlegm. And all these, being again thus generated and cor¬
rupted, in the first place destroy the blood itself; and this, no
longer affording nutriment to the body, is every where borne
along through the veins, without observing a natural order in
its circulations. But these indeed are unfriendly to each other,
because they derive no mutual advantages from the properties
with which each is endued. They likewise war upon the natural
habit of the body, and its perseverance in its proper state, by in¬
troducing dissolutions and liquefactions.

A most ancient portion of flesh, therefore, when it is liquefied
and rendered difficult of digestion, grows black through ancient

211

burning; but through its being entirely macerated it becomes
bitter, and adverse to all the other parts of the body which are
not yet infected with corruption. And then indeed the black
colour possesses sharpness instead of bitterness; that which was
bitter becoming more attenuated: and the bitterness, being
again tinged with blood, possesses a redder colour; but, from the
black which is mingled with this, becomes of a bilious nature.
But, besides this, a yellow colour is mingled with bitterness,
when the new flesh liquefies through the fire subsisting about
flame. And, indeed, either some physician will assign to all these
the common appellation of bile, or some one who is able to con¬
sider things many and dissimilar, and to behold one genus in
many particulars deserving one denomination. But such other
things as are called species of bile receive an appellation peculiar
to each, according to colour. But corruption (cx<op), which
is the defluxion or whey of the blood, is gentle and mild: but
that which is the sediment of black and sharp bile is of a ferocious
and rustic nature, when it is mingled through heat with a saline
power. And a substance of this kind is denominated acid phlegm.
But a portion of recent and delicate flesh is often liquefied to¬
gether with the air, and is afterwards inflated and comprehended
by moisture: and from this passion bubbles are produced, which
taken separately are invisible on account of their smallness, but
which, when collected into a large bulk, become conspicuous,
and possess a white colour on account of the generation of froth.
And we denominate all this liquefaction of delicate flesh, and
which is woven together with spirit, white phlegm. But we call
the sediment of recent phlegm tears and sweat; together with
every thing of that kind into which the body is every day resolved.
And all these, indeed, become the instruments of disease, when
the blood does not naturally abound from liquid and solid ali¬
ment, but increases from contraries in such a manner as to vio¬
late the laws of nature. When, therefore, any part of the flesh is
cut off, but at the same time the foundation of it remains, the
calamity possesses but half its power; for it is capable of being

212

easily recovered. But when that which binds the flesh to the
bones becomes diseased, and the blood flowing from it and the
nerves no longer nourishes the bones and binds the flesh, but,
instead of being fat, smooth, and glutinous, becomes rough and
salt through bad diet; then, in consequence of suffering all this,
and being separated from the bones, it is refrigerated under the
flesh and nerves. For the flesh, falling from its roots, leaves the
nerves bare, and drenched in a salt humour; and hence, gliding
again into the circulation of the blood, it increases the number
of the diseases we have already described. And these passions,
indeed, which subsist about the body, are of a grievous nature:
but those which precede these are still more afflictive and trouble¬
some. But this takes place when the bone through the density of
the flesh does not admit sufficient respiration, but, being heated
through filthiness, becomes rotten, receives no nutriment, but
falls upon the flesh, which is on the contrary refrigerated; and the
flesh again falls on the blood, so that by this means diseases more
severe than the former are produced. But the extremity of all
maladies then happens, when the nature of the marrow becomes
diseased through some defect or excess: for then it produces the
most vehement and fatal diseases; as the whole nature of the body
is in this case necessarily dissipated and dissolved.

But it is requisite after this to understand that the third species
of diseases receives a tripartite division. For one of the divisions
is produced by spirit, the other by phlegm, and the other by bile.
For when the lungs, those distributive guardians of the breath,
being obstructed by defluxions, cannot afford a free passage to
the breath; then, as there is no emission of the breath in one part,
and more is received into another part than is requisite, the parts
without refrigeration become rotten; but that which is received
in too great abundance passing through the veins, distorts them
and liquefies the diaphragm situated in the middle of the body:
and thus ten thousand grievous diseases arise from hence, to¬
gether with an abundance of sweat. But often, when the flesh
becomes separated within the body, breath is produced; and

213

this being incapable of departing externally, causes the same tor¬
ments as the breath when entering from without. It produces,
however, the greatest pains, when surrounding the nerves and
neighbouring veins it inflates them, and stretches and distorts
the ligaments and nerves continued from the back. And these
diseases, from the stretching and inflating passion, are denomi¬
nated tensions and contortions from behind; and of which it is
difficult to find a cure. For, fevers taking place dissolve these
diseases in a most eminent degree. But the white phlegm possess¬
ing a difficulty of respiring externally, through the spirit of the
bubbles, variegates the body indeed in a milder nature, yet
sprinkles it with white spots, and generates other diseases of a
similar kind. But when this white phlegm is mingled with black
bile, and becomes dissipated about the circulations of the head,
which are of a most divine nature, then it disturbs these circula¬
tions; and if this happens in sleep, the perturbation is less violent;
but if to those who are awake, it cannot without difficulty be ex¬
pelled. And as this is a disease of a sacred nature, it is most justly
denominated a sacred disease.

A sharp and salt phlegm is the fountain of all such diseases as
are produced by a defluxion of humours: and because the places
into which this phlegm flows possess an omniform variety, it
generates all-various diseases. But whatever parts of the body
are said to be inflated are thus affected from the inflammation
of bile: which, when it expires, produces externally various
tumours from its fervid nature; but, when inwardly restrained,
generates many inflammatory diseases. It is, however, then
greatest, when, being mingled with pure blood, it removes the
fibres from their natural order, which are scattered into the
blood for this purpose, that it may possess tenuity and density
in a commensurate degree; and that it may neither through heat
(as it is of a moist nature) flow from the thin body, nor, when
becoming more dense, and of consequence more unadapted to
motion, may scarcely be able to flow back again through the
veins. The fibres, therefore, are very serviceable on this occa-

214

sion, which if any one should collect together in the blood when
dead, and in a state of frigidity, all the remaining blood would
become diffused; and when poured forth they would be swiftly
coagulated, together with the cold by which they are surrounded.
But as the fibres possess this power in the blood, and the bile
naturally becomes ancient blood, and is again liquefied from
flesh into this, such things as are hot and moist falling gradually
the first of all, hence it becomes collected together through the
power of the fibres. When the bile is coagulated and violently
extinguished, it causes a tempest and tremour within. But when
it flows more abundantly, vanquishing the fibres by its own
proper heat, and becoming fervid in an inordinate degree, it
then preserves the body: and if it retains its conquering power
to the end, it penetrates into the marrow; and burning the bonds
of the soul, as if they were the cables of a ship, dissolves her
union, and dismisses her from thence entirely free. But when it
flows with less abundance, and the body becoming liquefied
opposes its passage, then finding itself vanquished, it either falls
through the whole body, or, being compelled through the veins
into the upper or lower belly, like one flying from a seditious
city, it escapes from the body and introduces defluxions, dysen¬
teries, or gripings of the intestines, and all diseases of a similar
kind. When the body, therefore, is eminently diseased through
excess of fire, it then labours under continued burnings and
fever; but when through excess of air, under quotidian fevers;
under tertian through water, because water is more sluggish than
fire and air; under quartan, through excess of earth. For earth,
being the most sluggish of all these, is purified in quadruple
periods of time; and on this account introduces quartan fevers,
which it is scarcely possible to disperse. And in this manner are
the diseases of the body produced.

But the diseases of the soul, which subsist through the habit
of the body, are as follow:—We must admit that the disease of
the soul is folly, or a privation of intellect. But there are two
kinds of folly; the one madness, the other ignorance. Whatever

215

passion, therefore, introduces either of these must be called a
disease. And we should establish excessive pleasures and pains
as the greatest diseases of the soul. For, when a man is too much
elevated with joy or depressed with grief, while he hastens im¬
moderately either to retain the one or to fly from the other, he
is not able either to perceive or hear any thing properly,' but is
agitated with fury, and is very little capable of exercising the
reasoning power. But he who possesses a great quantity of fluid
seed about the marrow, and who, like a tree laden with a super¬
abundance of fruit, riots in the excess,—such a one being influ¬
enced by many pains and pleasures in desires, and their attendant
offspring, will be agitated with fury for the greatest part of his
life through mighty pleasures and pains: and though the soul of
such a one will be diseased and unwise, from the body with which
it is connected, yet it will be falsely considered not as diseased,
but as voluntarily bad. But in reality venereal intemperance
for the most part becomes a disease of the soul, through a habit
of one kind, from the tenuity of the bones, in a body fluid and
moist. And, indeed, it may be nearly asserted, that all in¬
temperance of pleasures of whatever kind, and all disgraceful
conduct, is not properly blamed as the consequence of voluntary
guilt. For no one is voluntarily bad: but he who is depraved
becomes so through a certain ill habit of body, and an unskilful
education. But these two circumstances are inimical to all, and
productive of a certain ill. And again, the soul, when influenced
by pain, suffers much depravity from this through the body.
For, when sharp and salt phlegm, and likewise bitter and bilious
humours, wandering through the body, are prevented from pass¬
ing forth externally, but, revolving inwardly, mingle their ex¬
halations with the circulation of the soul; in this case they
produce all-various diseases of the soul, in a greater and less de¬
gree, and less and more numerous. They are introduced, indeed,
to three seats of the soul; and according to the diversity of the
place, each generates all-various species of difficulty and sorrow,
of boldness and timidity, and, still further, of oblivion and

216

indocility. But, besides this, the vicious manners of cities, and
discourses both private and public, often contribute to increase
this malady: nor are any disciplines taught in the early part of
life, which might serve as remedies for such mighty ills. And
thus all such as are vicious are so through two involuntary
causes; the existence of which we should always rather ascribe
to the planters than to the things planted, and to the educators
rather than to the educated. We should, therefore, endeavour
to the utmost of our ability, by education, studies, and disci¬
plines, to fly from vice, and acquire its contrary, virtue. But
these particulars, indeed, belong to another mode of discourse.

Again, therefore, with respect to the contrary of these, it is now
proper to explain in a becoming manner by what culture, and
from what causes, we may preserve both the body and dianoetic
energies of the soul. For it is more just to discourse concerning
good things than of such as are evil. But every thing good is
beautiful; and that which is beautiful is not destitute of measure.
An animal, therefore, which is about to be beautiful and good,
must possess commensuration. But, perceiving certain small
particulars of things commensurate, we syllogize concerning
them; while at the same time we are ignorant of such as are
greatest and the chief. For, indeed, no symmetry and immodera¬
tion is of greater consequence with respect to health and disease,
virtue and vice, than that of the soul towards the body. But we
consider no circumstance of these; nor do we perceive that when
a more imbecil and inferior form is the vehicle of a robust and
every way mighty soul, and when, on the contrary, these two
pass into a state of concretion, then the whole animal cannot
subsist in a beautiful manner: for it is incommensurate through
the want of the greatest symmetry. But the animal whose com¬
position is contrary to this, affords a spectacle to him who is
able to behold it, of all spectacles the most beautiful and
lovely. When the body, therefore, possesses legs immoderately
large, or any other member surpassing its just proportion, and
becomes through this incommensurate with itself, it is rendered

217

at the same time base, in the endurance of labour suffers many
molestations and many convulsions, and through an aggrega¬
tion of accidents becomes the cause of innumerable maladies to
itself. The same too must be understood concerning that com¬
position of body and soul which we denominate an animal. As,
for instance, that when the soul in this composite is more robust
than the body, and possesses if raging and transported, then the
soul, agitating the whole of it, inwardly fills it with diseases; and,
when she vehemently applies herself to certain disciplines, causes
it to liquefy and waste away. Lastly, when the soul employs
herself in teaching and literary contests, both in public and
private, through a certain ambitious strife, then inflaming the
body, she dissolves its constitution; and besides this, introducing
distillations of humours, she deceives the most part of those
who are called physicians, and induces them to consider these
effects as proceeding from contrary causes.

But again, when a mighty body and above measure frigid is
conjoined with a small and imbecil dianoetic part, since there
are naturally twofold desires in man, one of aliment through the
body, but the other of prudence through the most divine
part of our nature;—in this case, the motions of that which is
more powerful prevail, and increase that which is their own:
but render the dianoetic part of the soul dull, indocile, and
oblivious, and thus produce ignorance, which is the greatest of
all diseases. But this one thing alone is the health and safety of
both—neither to move the soul without the body, nor the body
without the soul; that, being equally balanced in their mutual
contentions, the health of the whole composite may be pre¬
served. Hence, he who vehemently applies himself to the mathe¬
matics, or to any other dianoetic exercise, should also employ
the motion of the body, and be familiar with gymnastic. And
again, he who is careful in forming his body aright should at
the same time unite with this the motions of the soul, employ¬
ing music and all philosophy; if he is to be rendered such a one
as can be justly called beautiful, and at the same time truly

218

good. In the same manner, too, we ought to take care of the
parts of the body, imitating the form of the whole. For when
the body, through such things as are introduced from without,
is inflamed and refrigerated, and is again rendered dry and moist
by externals, and suffers every thing consequent to these affec¬
tions; then, if any one in a quiet state gives up his body to mo¬
tions, he will be vanquished by them and dissolved. But if any
one imitates that nature which we called the nourisher of the
universe, so as never to suffer the body to be in a state of rest,
but perpetually moves and agitates it throughout, he will then
assist the internal and external motions according to nature;
and, in consequence of a moderate agitation, will reduce into
order and adorn the wandering passions and parts of the body,
according to their alliance with each other. Such a one, indeed,
as we said in our former discourse about the universe, will not,
by placing foe against foe, suffer war and disease to be produced
in the body; but, combining friend with friend, will thus render
the body healthy and sound. But, of all motions, that is the best
in any nature which takes place in itself from itself: for this is
particularly allied to the dianoetic motion of the universe. But
that motion is of the worse kind which is produced by another.
And that is the worst of all motions, when the body, being in a
recumbent and quiet state, is moved by others according to parts.
And hence, of all the purgations and concretions of the body,
that is the best which subsists through gymnastic. The next to
this is that which takes place through easy carriage, whether in
a ship or any other convenient vehicle. But the third species
of motion is only to be used when vehemently necessary, and at
no other time by any one endued with intellect: and this is that
medical motion which is performed by pharmaceutical purga¬
tions. For diseases, unless they are extremely dangerous, are
not to be irritated by medicines. For every composition of dis¬
eases is in a certain respect similar to the nature of animals. And
indeed the association of the animal nature is allotted stated
periods of life; both the whole genus, and every individual, con-

219

taining in itself a fatal term of living, separate from the passions
which necessity produces. For the triangles, which from the very
beginning possessed the power of each animal, are sufficiently
able to cohere together for a certain time: but life beyond this
period cannot be extended to any one. The same mode of com¬
position likewise subsists about diseases; which if any one de¬
stroys by medicine before the fated time, he will only produce
great diseases from small ones, and many from a few. On this
account it is necessary to discipline all such maladies by proper
diet, according as every one’s leisure will permit; and to avoid
irritating by medicines a most difficult disease. And thus much
may suffice concerning the common animal and its corporeal
part; and how these may be disciplined and governed in such
a manner as to produce a life according to reason in the most
eminent degree.

But that which is destined to govern, ought much more and by
far the first to be furnished as much as possible with such mate¬
rials as may render it capable of disciplinative sway, in a manner
the moiit beautiful and the best. To discuss accurately indeed
particulars of this kind would require a treatise solely confined
to such a discussion: but if any one slightly considers this affair
in a manner consequent to what has been above delivered, such
a one by thus proceeding will not unseasonably arrive at the end
of his pursuit. We have often then previously asserted that there
are three species of soul within us, triply distributed; and that
each has its own proper motions. And we shall now, therefore,
briefly affirm, that when any one of them is in a torpid state, and
rests from its own proper motions, it necessarily becomes most
imbecil; but that, when it is employed in convenient exercises,
it becomes most vigorous and robust. We should, therefore,
be careful that the several species may preserve their motions,
so as to be commensurate to each other.

With respect, however, to the most principal and excellent
species of the soul, we should conceive as follows: that Divinity
assigned this to each of us as a daemon; and that it resides in the

220

very summit of the body, elevating us from earth to an alliance
with the heavens; as we are not terrestrial plants, but blossoms
of heaven. And this indeed is most truly asserted. For, from
whence the first generation of the soul arose, from thence a
divine nature being suspended from our head and root, directs
and governs the whole of our corporeal frame. In him, there¬
fore, who vehemently labours to satisfy the cravings of desire
and ambition, all the conceptions of his soul must be necessarily
mortal; and himself as much as possible must become entirely
mortal, since he leaves nothing unaccomplished which tends to
increase his perishable part. But it is necessary that he who is
sedulously employed in the acquisition of knowledge, who is
anxious to acquire the wisdom of truth, and who employs his
most vigorous exertions in this one pursuit;—it is perfectly neces¬
sary that such a one, if he touches on the truth, should be endued
with wisdom about immortal and divine concerns; and that he
should participate of immortality, as far as human nature per¬
mits, without leaving any part of it behind. And besides, as such
a one always cultivates that which is divine, and has a daemon
most excellently adorned residing in his essence, he must be
happy in the most eminent degree. The culture of all the parts
is indeed entirely one, and consists in assigning proper nutriment
and motion to each. But the motions which are allied to the
divine part of our nature are the dianoetic energies and circula¬
tions of the universe. These, therefore, each of us ought to pur¬
sue; restoring in such a manner those revolutions in our head
(which have been corrupted by our wanderings about genera¬
tion), through diligently considering the harmonies and circula¬
tions of the universe, that the intellective power may become
assimilated to the object of intelligence, according to its ancient
nature. For, when thus assimilated, we shall obtain the end of
the best life proposed by the Gods to men, both at present and
in all the future circulations of time. And now that disputation
which we announced at the beginning concerning the universe,
as far as to the generation of man, has almost received its con-

221

summation. For we shall briefly run over the generation of
other animals, and this no further than necessity requires: for
thus any one may appear to himself to preserve a convenient
measure in such a disputation. Let us, therefore, speak concern¬
ing these as follows:

Those who on becoming men are timid, and pass through life
unjustly, will according to assimilative reasoning be changed
into women in their second generation. And at the same time
through this cause the Gods devised the love of copulation;
composing an animal or animated substance, and placing one
in us, but another in the female nature. But they produced each
in the following manner. That procession of liquid aliment
which passes through the lungs under the reins into the bladder,
and which being compressed by the breath is emitted externally,
—this the Gods receiving, they deduced it after the manner of a
pipe into the concrete marrow, through the neck and spine of
the back: and this is what we called seed in the former part of
our discourse. But this, in consequence of being animated and
receiving respiration, produces in the part where it respires a
vital desire of effluxion; and thus perfects in us the love of be¬
getting. On this account, that nature which subsists about the
privy parts of men, becoming refractory and imperious, and as
it were an animal unobedient to reason, endeavours through
raging desire to possess absolute sway. In like manner the
privities and matrix of women, forming an animal desirous of
procreating children, when it remains without fruit beyond the
flower of its age, or for a still more extended period, suffers the
restraint with difficulty and indignation; and wandering every
way through the body, obstructs the passage of the breath, does
not permit respiration to take place, introduces ether extreme
difficulties, and causes all-various diseases; till the desire and love
of the parts educe seed like fruit from a tree: but, when educed,
they scatter it into the matrix as into a field. Hence women con¬
ceive animals invisible at first through their smallness, rude and
unformed; when they become large, through dispersion of the

222

seed, nourish them within; and, lastly, leading them into light
perfect the generation of animals. In this manner, therefore, is
the generation of women and every thing female performed.
But the tribe of birds succeeds in the next place, fashioned from
men, and receiving wings instead of hairs. These are produced
from such men as are indeed innocent, but inconstant and light;
who are curious about things situated on high; but are so infatu¬
ated as to think, from the testimony of the sight, that demon¬
strations about things of this kind are the most firm and incon¬
trovertible of all. But the pedestrian and savage tribe of animals
was generated from men 1 r who being entirely destitute of
philosophy, never elevated their eyes to any object in the heavens;
and this because they never employed the circulations in the
head, but followed the impulse of those parts of the soul which
rule in the belly and breast. Hence from studies of this kind
drawing the anterior members and head to the ground, they fix
them through proximity of nature in the earth. Besides this,
they possess long and all-various heads; as the circulations of each
are through idleness compressed and broken: and by this means
their race becomes quadruped and multiped; the Divinity as¬
signing many feet to such as are more unwise, that they may
be more strongly drawn towards the earth. But the most unwise
of these, and every way extending all their body on the earth, as
if there was no longer any occasion of feet, the Gods generated
without feet, and destined them to creep on the earth. The
fourth genus is the aquatic, which was produced from such men
as were stupid and ignorant in the most remarkable degree; and
whom those transformers of our nature did not think deserving
of a pure respiration, on account of their possessing a soul in an
unpurified state, through extreme transgression. And hence they

1 Plato here generating mortal animals through the human soul, after its
polity in the heavens, leads it into the pedestrian genus, that he may com¬
pletely produce man; and after this has acted erroneously, he again leads
it into the winged, and into the pedestrian and savage genus, and after¬
wards into the aquatic.

223

impelled them into the turbid and profound respiration of water,
instead of the attenuated and pure respiration of air: from
whence the genus of fish and oysters, and the multitude of all
aquatic animals arose; and who are allotted habitations in the
last regions of the universe, as the punishment of extreme igno¬
rance. And thus after this manner, both formerly and now, ani¬
mals migrate into each other; while they are changed by the loss
and acquisition of intellect and folly. Our discourse, therefore,
concerning the universe has now obtained its conclusion. For
this world, comprehending and receiving its completion from
mortal and immortal animals, is thus rendered a visible animal
containing visible natures, the image of an intelligible God,
sensible, the greatest and best, the most beautiful and perfect;
being no other than this one and only-begotten heaven.

THE END OF THE TIM/EUS

224

ATLANTICUS

INTRODUCTION

T O

THE CRITIAS

O R

ATLAMTICUS

IT is a singular circumstance, that though there is not, per¬
haps, any thing among the writings of the ancients which has
more generally attracted the attention of the learned in every
age than the Atlantic history of Plato, yet no more than one
single passage of about twenty or thirty lines has, prior to my
translation of the Timaeus, appeared in any modern language.
Much has been said and written by the moderns respecting the
Atlantic island; but the extent of the original source has not
even been suspected.

That the authenticity of the following history should have
been questioned by many of the moderns, is by no means sur¬
prising, if we consider that it is the history of an island and people
that are asserted to have existed nine thousand years prior to
Solon; as this contradicts the generally-received opinion respect¬
ing the antiquity of the world. However, as Plato expressly af¬
firms, that it is a relation in every respect true 1 , and, as Crantor 2 ,

1 navxartacrt ye iitiv aXriihi;.

2 'O jiQwxog xou nXaxcovog E^YTixrig Kgavxcog. Prod, in Tim. et mox—
MagxuQOuai 5 e xai 61 Jtgocprixai <pncri xcov Aiyujixicdv ev axriXai; xaig exi
aco^oiiEvai? xauxa VEYQOupOcu Xeyovxe?.

227

the first interpreter of Plato, asserts, “that the following history
was said, by the Egyptian priests of his time, to be still preserved
inscribed on pillars, it appears to me to be at least as well at¬
tested as any other narration in any ancient historian. Indeed,
he who proclaims that “truth is the source of every good both
to Gods and men, and the whole of whose works consists in
detecting error and exploring certainty, can never be supposed
to have wilfully deceived mankind by publishing an extravagant
romance as matter of fact, with all the precision of historical
detail.

Some learned men have endeavoured to prove that America
is the Atlantic island of Plato; and others have thought that the
extieme parts of Africa towards the south and west were re¬
garded by Plato in this narration. These opinions, however, are
so obviously erroneous, that the authors of them can hardly be
supposed to have read this dialogue, and the first part of the
Timaeus; for in these it is asserted that this island, in the space
of one day and night, was absorbed in the sea.

I only add, that this dialogue is an appendix, as it were, to the
Timaeus, and that it is not complete, Plato being prevented by
death from finishing it, as we are informed by Plutarch in his
life of Solon.

228

THE CRITIAS

O R

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE

TIMvEUS SOCRATES
CRITIAS HERMOCRATES

TlMjEUS

As pleasant, Socrates, as is rest after a long journey, so pleas¬
ing to me is the present liberation from an extended discourse.
But I beseech the world, that God, which was in reality gener¬
ated formerly, though but recently in our discussion, to preserve
those things which we have asserted with rectitude, but to inflict
on us a becoming punishment if we have involuntarily said any
thing discordant. But the proper punishment of him who acts
disorderly and inelegantly, is to make him act with order and
elegance. That we may, therefore, after this speak rightly re¬
specting the generation of the Gods, let us beseech that divinity,
the world, to impart to us the medicine science, which is the
most perfect and best of all medicines. But having prayed, let
us deliver, according to our agreement, the following discourse
to Critias.

Crit. I receive it, O Timteus: and as you, at the beginning of

229

your discussion, entreated pardon, as being about to speak of
great things; in like manner, I at present entreat the same.
Indeed I think that I ought to solicit pardon in a still greater
degree for the ensuing discourse, though I nearly know that this
my request is very ambitious, and more rustic than is proper;
but, at the same time, let us begin the discourse. For who endued
with a sound mind will attempt to say that the things which have
been asserted by you have not been well said? But that the par¬
ticulars which remain to be discussed require greater indulgence,
as being more difficult, this I will endeavour to show. For he, O
Timajus, who discourses concerning the Gods to men, may more
easily appear to speak all that is sufficient than he who discourses
concerning mortals to you. For the unskilfulness and vehement
ignorance of the auditors about things of this kind afford a great
copia verborum to him who enters on the discussion of them:
but we know how we are circumstanced with respect to the Gods.
However, that I may more plainly evince what I say, thus attend
to me in what follows:—It is requisite that all we shall say should
become in a certain respect an imitation and a resemblance. But
we see the facility and subtilty which take place in the repre¬
sentation exhibited by pictures of divine and human bodies, in
order that they may appear to the spectators to be apt imitations.
We likewise see, with respect to the earth, mountains, rivers,
woods, all heaven, and the revolving bodies which it contains,
that at first we are delighted if any one is able to exhibit but a
slender representation to our view; but that afterwards, as not
knowing any thing accurately about such-like particulars, we
neither examine nor blame the pictures, but use an immanifest
and fallacious adumbration respecting them. But when any one
attempts to represent our bodies, we acutely perceive what is
omitted, through our continual and familiar animadversion of
them, and we become severe judges of him who does not perfectly
exhibit all the requisite similitudes. It is likewise necessary to
consider the same thing as taking place in discourse. For, with
respect to things celestial and divine, we are delighted with

230

assertions concerning them that are but in a small degree
adapted to their nature; but we accurately examine things mortal
and human. And hence it is requisite to pardon whatever in the
ensuing discourse may be delivered in an unbecoming manner.
For it is proper to think, that to assimilate mortal concerns to
opinion, is not an easy but a difficult task. I have said all this,
Socrates, being willing to remind you, and to solicit not less but
greater pardon for the following discourse. But if my request
shall appear to you to be just, do you willingly impart this gift.

Soc. Why should we not, O Critias, impart it? And besides
this, the same pardon must be granted by us to a third. For it is
evident that Hermocrates 1 , who is to speak shortly after, will
make the same request. That he, therefore, may make a dif¬
ferent exordium, and may not be obliged to repeat what you have
said, let him know that pardon is granted him, and let him, there¬
fore, prepare to speak. But I previously announce to you, friend
Critias, the conceptions of the theatre 2 . For the poet has ap¬
proved in a wonderful manner the person who spoke in it before;
so that you will require abundant pardon in attempting to dis¬
charge the office of his successor.

Her. You announce the same thing to me, Socrates, as to him.
But desponding men, Critias, never erect a trophy. It is, there¬
fore, requisite to proceed in a virile manner to the discourse,
and, invoking Paean and the Muses, to exhibit and celebrate
ancient citizens who were excellent men.

Crit. O friend Hermocrates, as you are to speak on the follow¬
ing day, 'having another to speak before you, on this account
you are courageous. But he will, perhaps, manifest to you how
this is to be accomplished. You, therefore, thus exhorting and
encouraging me, I shall obey; and besides those Gods which you
have mentioned, I shall invoke others, and especiallyMnemosyne.
For nearly the greatest reasons and discussions are contained for

1 This speech of Hermocrates is not extant.

2 Viz. the persons of the dialogue.

231

us in this Divinity. If, then, we can sufficiently remember and
relate the narration which was once given by the Egyptian priests,
and brought hither by Solon, you know that we shall appear to
this theatre to have sufficiently accomplished our part. This,
therefore, must now be done, and without any further delay.

But first of all we must recollect, that die period of time from
which a war is said to have subsisted between all those that dwelt
beyond and within the pillars of Hercules, amounts to nine
thousand years: and this war it is now requisite for us to discuss.
Of those, therefore, that dwelt within the pillars of Hercules,
this city was the leader, and is said to have fought in every battle;
but of those beyond the pillars, the kings of the Atlantic island
were the leaders. But this island we said was once larger than
Libya and Asia, but is now a mass of impervious mud, through
concussions of the earth; so that those who are sailing in the vast
sea can no longer find a passage from hence thither . The course
of our narration, indeed, will unfold the many barbarous nations
and Grecian tribes which then existed, as they may happen to
present themselves to our view: but it is necessary to relate, in
the first place, the wars of the Athenians and their adversaries,
together with the power and the polities of each. And in dis¬
coursing of these we shall give the preference to our own people.

The Gods, then, once were locally allotted 1 the whole earth,
but not with contention: for it would be absurd that the Gods
should be ignorant of what is adapted to every one, or that,
knowing that which rather belongs to others, they should en¬
deavour, through strife, to possess what is not their own. Like-

1 As, according to the theology of Plato, there is not one father of the
universe only, one providence, and one divine law, but many fathers
subordinate to the one first father, many administrators of providence
posterior to, and comprehended in, the one universal providence of the
demiurgus of all things, and many laws proceeding from one first law, it
is necessary that there should be different allotments, and a diversity of
divine distribution. The allotment, however, of a divine nature is a govern¬
ment exempt from all passivity, and a providential energy about the subjects
of its government.

232

wise, receiving places agreeable to them, from the allotments of
justice, they inhabited the various regions of the earth. In conse¬
quence of this, too, like shepherds, they nourished us as their
possessions, flocks, and herds; with this exception, however, that
they did not force bodies to bodies in the same manner as shep¬
herds, who, when feeding their cattle, compel them to come
together with blows: but they considered us as a docile and
obedient animal; and, as if piloting a pliant ship, employed
persuasion for the rudder; and with this conception as the leader,
they governed the whole mortal race. Different Gods, there¬
fore, being allotted, adorned different places. But Vulcan and
Minerva \ who possess a common nature, both because they are
the offspring of the same father, and because, through philosophy
and the study of arts, they tend to the same things;—these, I say,
in consequence of this, received one allotment, viz. this region,
as being naturally allied and adapted to virtue and prudence.
But these Divinities having produced worthy, earth-born men,

1 Vulcan is that divine power which presides over the spermatic and
physical reasons, or productive principles, which the universe contains: for
whatever Nature accomplishes by verging towards bodies, Vulcan performs
in a divine and exempt manner, by moving Nature, and using her as an
instrument in his own proper fabrication; since natural heat has a Vul-
canian characteristic, and was produced by Vulcan for the purpose of
fabricating a corporeal nature. Vulcan, therefore, is that power which
perpetually presides over the fluctuating nature of bodies; and hence, says
Olympiodorus, he operates with bellows (ev cpuaai;); which occultly signi¬
fies his operating in natures (avxi xou ev xaig qpuaEai). But by earth we
must understand matter, which was thus symbolically denominated by the
ancients, as we learn from Porphyry de Antr. Nymph. By Minerva we must
understand the summit (xoQuqpi}) of all those intellectual natures that
reside in Jupiter, the artificer of the world: or, in other words, she is that
deity which illuminates all mundane natures with intelligence. The
Athenians, therefore, who are souls of a Minerval characteristic, may be
very properly said to be the progeny of Vulcan and the Earth, because
Vulcan, who perpetually imitates the intellectual energy of Minerva in his
fabrication of the sensible universe, imparts to them through this imitation
those vehicles, and those spermatic reasons, through which in conjunction
with matter they become inhabitants of this terrestrial abode.

233

arranged in their intellectual part the order of a polity. Of these
men the names are preserved; but their works, through the ex¬
tinction of those that received them, and length of time, have
disappeared. For the surviving race of men, as has been observed
before, are always mountaineers, and void of discipline, who
have only heard the names of men that were powerful in the
region, and who, besides this, have been acquainted but with
few of the transactions of the country. In consequence, there¬
fore, of loving these ancient men, they gave the names of them
to their children: but they were ignorant of the virtues and laws
of those before them; for of these they knew nothing, but what
they gathered from certain obscure rumours; and as for many
generations they'were in want of necessaries, both they and their
children directed their attention to the particulars of which they
were destitute, discoursed about these, and neglected past and
ancient transactions. For mythology, and an investigation of
ancient affairs, commence in cities in conjunction with leisure,
when the necessaries of life are procured; but not before. On
this account the names of ancient transactions were preserved,
without any account of the transactions themselves. But I infer
that this was the case, said Solon, because those priests, in their
narration of the war at that period, inserted many names similar
to those that were adopted afterwards, such as Cecrops, Erech-
theus, Erichthonius, Erisichthon, and many other of those names
which are commemorated prior to Theseus. This was likewise
the case with the names of the women. The figure too and statue
of Minerva evinced, that at that period the studies of women
and men with respect to war were common, as an armed image
was then dedicated to the Goddess; this serving as a document,
that among animals of the same species both male and female
are naturally able to pursue in common every virtue, which is
adapted to their species. But at that time many other tribes of
citizens dwelt in this region, who were skilled in the fabricative
arts, and in agriculture. The warlike tribe, however, lived from
the first separate from divine men, and possessed every thing

234

requisite to aliment and education. None of them, however, had
any private property; for all of them considered all things as
common. They likewise did not think it worth while to receive
from other citizens beyond a sufficiency of nutriment; and they
engaged in all those pursuits which we related yesterday as per¬
taining to the guardians of our republic. It was likewise plausibly
and truly said of our region, that, in the first place, at that time
its boundaries extended, on one side to the Isthmus, and on the
other to Epirus, as far as to Cithzeron and Pamethe. These
boundaries are on the descent, having Oropia on the right hand,
and limiting Asopus toward the sea on the left. It is likewise
said that the whole earth was vanquished by the valour of this
region; and that on this account it was at that time able to
support the numerous army formed from the surrounding in¬
habitants. But this it is said was a mighty proof of virtue. For
what is now left of this country may contend with any other in
fertility of soil, in the goodness of its fruits, and in pastures
accommodated to every species of animals. But then it produced
all these, not only thus beautiful, but likewise in the greatest
abundance. But how is this credible? And by what arguments
can it be shown that these are the remains of the land that then
existed? The whole of this region is situated like a long promon¬
tory, extending into the sea, from the other continent. This the
profound receptacle of the sea every way surrounds. As, there¬
fore, many and mighty deluges happened in that period of nine
thousand years (for so many years have elapsed from that to the
present time), the defluxions of the earth at these times, and
during these calamities, from elevated places, did not, as they
are elsewhere wont to do, accumulate any hillock which deserves
to be mentioned, but, always flowing in a circle, at length
vanished in a profundity. The parts, therefore, that are left at
present are but as small islands, if compared with those that
existed at that time; and may be said to resemble the bones of a
diseased body; such of the earth as was soft and fat being washed
away, and a thin body of the country alone remaining. But at

235

that time the land, being unmingled, contained mountains and
lofty hills; and the plains, which are now denominated Phellei,
were then full of fat earth; and the mountains abounded with
woods, of which there are evident tokens even at present. For
there are mountains which now only afford nutriment for bees,
but formerly, and at no very distant period, the largest trees were
cut down from those mountains, as being adapted for buildings;
and of these edifices, the coverings still remain. There were
likewise many other lofty domestic trees; and most fertile
pastures for cattle. This region, too, every year enjoyed prolific
rain, which did not then, as now, run from naked earth into the
sea, but, being collected in great abundance from lofty places,
and preserved for use in certain cavities of the earth, diffused
copious streams of fountains and rivers to every part of the
country; the truth of which is confirmed by certain sacred re¬
mains which are still to be seen in the ancient fountains. And
such was the natural condition of this region formerly; besides
which, it was cultivated, as it is reasonable to suppose it would
be, by real husbandmen, who were men of elegant manners, and
of a disposition naturally good; who possessed a most excellent
soil, most abundant streams of water, and a most salubrious
temperament of air.

But the city at that time was built in the following manner:
In the first place, the Acropolis was not then, as it is at present.
For now one rainy night having softened the bare land round
about, in a remarkable degree, at the same time produced an
earthquake; and thus there happened a third fatal inundation
of water, prior to the deluge of Deucalion 1 . But prior to this,
the magnitude of the Acropolis extended as far as to Eridanus
and Ilissus, comprehended within itself Pnyx, and Lycabetus,
and was bounded in a direction opposite to Pnyx. All the land
too was glebous, except a few places in a more elevated situation

1 The deluge of Deucalion appears to be the same with that which is men¬
tioned by Moses; but the Jews had no knowledge of any other.

236

which were plain. Its exterior parts on the left hand were in¬
habited by artists and husbandmen, who cultivated the neigh¬
bouring land. But the warlike tribe alone inhabited the ele¬
vated parts, about the temple of Minerva and Vulcan, being dis¬
tributed in one enclosure round the garden as it were of one
edifice. For those who raised public buildings, and common
banquets for the winter season, together with whatever is adapted
to a common polity, and who furnished both these, and temples
themselves, without gold and silver, all of this description dwelt
in the northern parts of this region. For gold and silver were
not employed by any one at any time; but, pursuing a middle
course between arrogance and illiberality, they built moderate
houses, in which both they, and the offspring of their offspring
growing old, they always left them to others like themselves. But
in summer they used gardens, gymnasia, and public banquets, in
places situated towards the south. There was likewise one foun¬
tain in the place where the Acropolis is now situated, which hav¬
ing been exhausted by earthquakes, small circulating streams
alone remain at present. But at that time every part was
abundantly supplied with springs of water, which were of a
salutary temperament both in summer and winter. In this man¬
ner, then, these places were formerly inhabited; and the men of
whom we have been speaking were guardians of their own
citizens, but leaders of the other willing Greeks. They likewise
were especially careful that there might always be the same
number of men and women who by their age are able to fight,
and that this number might not be less than twenty thousand.
These men, therefore, being such as we have described, and al¬
ways justly administering in this manner both their own affairs
and those of all Greece, they were esteemed and renowned be¬
yond every other nation by all Europe and Asia, both for the
beauty of their bodies and the all-various virtue of their souls.

In the next place, I shall communicate to you from the begin¬
ning the particulars respecting the adversaries of these men, if
I am able to recollect what I heard when I was a boy. But, some-

237

what prior to this narration, it is proper to observe, that you
must not be surprised at often hearing me mention Grecian
names of barbarous men. For the cause of this is as follows:—
Solon intending to insert this narration into his verses, investi¬
gated for this purpose the power of names, and found that those
first Egyptians who committed these particulars to writing trans¬
ferred these names into their own tongue. He, therefore, again
receiving the meaning of every name, introduced that meaning
into our language. And these writings were in the possession of
my grandfather, and are now in mine: they were likewise the
subject of my meditation while I was a boy. If, therefore, in the
course of this narration you hear such names as subsist among
us at present, you must not be surprised; for you know the cause.
But it will require a long discourse to speak from the beginning,
as I did before, concerning the allotment of the Gods, and to
show how they distributed the whole earth, here into larger,
and there into lesser allotments, and procured temples and sacri¬
fices for themselves. Neptune, indeed, being allotted the Atlantic
island, settled his offspring by a mortal woman in a certain part
of the island, of the following description. Towards the sea, but
in the middle of the island, there was a plain, which is said to
have been the most beautiful of all plains, and distinguished by
the fertility of the soil. Near this plain, and again in the middle
of it, at the distance of fifty stadia, there was a very low mountain.
This was inhabited by one of those men who in the beginning
sprung from the earth, and whose name was Evenor. This man
living with a woman called Leucippe had by her elites, who was
his only daughter. But when the virgin arrived at maturity, and
her father and mother were dead, Neptune 1 being captivated
with her beauty had connection with her, and enclosed the hill

1 A demoniacal Neptune, or a demon belonging to the order of Neptune,
by contributing to the procreation of the offspring of elites, is, in mytho¬
logical language, said to have been captivated with her beauty, and to have
had connection with her. See the first note to the Life of Plato by
Olympiodorus.

238

on which she dwelt with spiral streams of water; the sea and the
land at the same time alternately forming about each other
lesser and larger zones. Of these, two were formed by the land,
and three by the sea; and these zones, as if made by a turner’s
wheel, were in all parts equidistant from the middle of the island,
so that the hill was inaccessible to men. For at that time there
were no ships, and the art of sailing was then unknown. But
Neptune, as being a divinity, easily adorned the island in the
middle; caused two fountains of water to spring up from under
the earth, one cold and the other hot; and likewise bestowed all¬
various and sufficient aliment from the earth. He also begat and
educated five male twins; and having distributed all the Atlantic
island into ten parts, he bestowed upon his first-born son his
maternal habitation and the surrounding land; this being the
largest and the best division. He likewise established this son
king of the whole island, and made the rest of his sons govern¬
ors. But he gave to each of them dominion over many people,
and an extended tract of land. Besides this, too, he gave all of
them names. And his first-born son, indeed, who was the king
of all the rest, he called Atlas, whence the whole island was at
that time denominated Atlantic. But the twin son that was bom
immediately after Atlas, and who was allotted the extreme parts
of the island, towards the pillars of Hercules, as far as to the
region which at present from that place is called Gadiric, he
denominated according to his native tongue Gadirus, but which
we call in Greek Eumelus. Of his second twin offspring, he
called one Ampheres, and the other Eudaemon. The first-bom
of his third offspring he denominated Mneseus, and the second
Autochthon. The elder of his fourth issue he called Elasippus,
and the younger Mestor. And, lastly, he denominated the first¬
born of his fifth issue Azaes, and the second Diaprepes. All these
and their progeny dwelt in this place, for a prodigious number
of generations, ruling over many other islands, and extending
their empire, as we have said before, as far as to Egypt and Tyr-
rhenia. But the race of Atlas was by far the most honourable;

239

and of these, the oldest king always left the kingdom, for many
generations, to the eldest of his offspring. These, too, possessed
wealth in such abundance as to surpass in this respect all the
kings that were prior to them; nor will any that may succeed
them easily obtain the like. They had likewise every thing pro¬
vided for them which both in a city and every other place is
sought after as useful for the purposes of life. And they were
supplied, indeed, with many things from foreign countries, on
account of their extensive empire; but the island afforded them
the greater part of ever)' thing of which they stood in need. In
the first place, the island supplied them with such things as are
dug out of mines in a solid state, and with such as are melted:
and orichalcum *, which is now but seldom mentioned, but then
was much celebrated, was dug out of the earth in many parts of
the island, and was considered as the most honourable of all
metals except gold. Whatever, too, the woods afford for builders
the island produced in abundance. There were likewise suffi¬
cient pastures there for tame and savage animals; together with
a prodigious number of elephants. For, there were pastures for
all such animals as are fed in lakes and rivers, on mountains, and
in plains. And, in like manner, there was sufficient aliment for
the largest and most voracious kind of animals. Besides this,
whatever of odoriferous the earth nourishes at present, whether
roots, or grass, or wood, or juices, or gums, flowers, or fruits,—
these the island produced, and produced them well. Again, the
island bore mild and dry fruits, such as we use for food, and of
which we make bread, (aliment of this kind being denominated
by us leguminous,) together with such meats, drinks, and oint¬
ments, as trees afford. Here, likewise, there were trees, whose
fruits are used for the sake of sport and pleasure, and which it is
difficult to conceal; together with such dainties as are used as the
remedies of satiety, and are grateful to the weary. All these an

1 It is uncertain what this orichalcum was: perhaps it was the same with
platina.

240

island which once existed, bore sacred, beautiful, and wonder¬
ful, and in infinite abundance. The inhabitants, too, receiving
all these from the earth, constructed temples, royal habitations,
ports, docks, and all the rest of the region, disposing them in the
following manner:—In the first place, those who resided about
the ancient metropolis united by bridges those zones of the sea
which we before mentioned, and made a road both to the ex¬
ternal parts and to the royal abode. But the palace of the king
was from the first immediately raised in this very habitation of
the God and their ancestors. This being adorned by one person
after another in continued succession, the latter of each always
surpassing the former in the ornaments he bestowed, the palace
became at length astonishingly large and beautiful. For they
dug a trench as far as to the outermost zone, which commencing
from the sea extended three acres in breadth, and fifty stadia in
length. And that ships might sail from this sea to that zone as
a port, they enlarged its mouth, so that it might be sufficient to
receive the largest vessels. They likewise divided by bridges those
zones of the earth which separated the zones of the sea, so that
with one three-banked galley they might sail from one zone to the
other; and covered the upper part of the zones in such a manner
that they might sail under them. For the lips of the zones of
earth were higher than the sea. But the greatest of these zones,
towards which the sea directed its course, was in breadth three
stadia: the next in order was of the same dimension. But, of the
other two, the watery circle was in breadth two stadia; and that
of earth was again equal to the preceding circle of water: but
the zone which ran round the island in the middle was one
stadium in breadth. The island which contained the palace of
the king was five stadia in diameter. This, together with the
zones, and the bridge which was every way an acre in breadth,
they inclosed with a wall of stone, and raised towers and gates
on the bridges according to the course of the sea. Stones, too,
were dug out from under the island, on all sides of it, and from
within and without the zones: some of which were white, others

241

black, and others red: and these stone quarries, on account of the
cavity of the rock, afforded two convenient docks. With respect
to the edifices, some were of a simple structure, and others were
raised from stones of different colours; thus by variety pursuing
pleasure, which was allied to their nature. They likewise covered
the superficies of the wall which inclosed the most outward zone
with brass, using it for this purpose as an ointment; but they
covered the superficies of that wall which inclosed the interior
zone with tin: and lastly, they covered that which inclosed the
acropolis with orichalcum, which shines with a fiery splendour.

The royal palace within the acropolis was constructed as fol¬
lows:—In the middle of it there was a temple, difficult of access,
sacred to elites and Neptune, and which was surrounded with an
inclosure of gold. In this place assembling in the beginning,
they produced the race of ten kings; and from the ten divisions
of the whole region here collected every year, they performed
seasonable sacrifices to each. But the temple of Neptune was
one stadium in length, and three acres in breadth; and its alti¬
tude was commensurate to its length and breadth. There was
something, however, barbaric in its form. All the external parts
of the temple, except the summit, were covered with silver; for
that was covered with gold. With respect to the internal parts,
the roof was entirely formed from ivory, variegated with gold,
silver, and orichalcum; but as to all the other parts, such as the
walls, pillars, and pavement, these were adorned with orichal¬
cum. Golden statues, too, were placed in the temple; and the
God himself was represented standing on a chariot, and govern¬
ing six-winged horses; while, at the same time, through his mag¬
nitude, he touched the roof with his head. An hundred Nereids
upon dolphins were circularly disposed about him; for at that
time this was supposed to be the number of the Nereids. There
were likewise many other statues of private persons dedicated
within the temple. Round the temple, on the outside, stood
golden images of all the women and men that had descended
from the ten kings: together with many other statues of kings

242

and private persons, which had been dedicated from the city,
and from foreign parts that were in subjection to the Atlantic
island. There was an altar, too, which accorded in magnitude
and construction with the other ornaments of the temple; and
in like manner, the palace was adapted to the magnitude of the
empire, and the decorations of the sacred concerns. The in¬
habitants, likewise, used fountains both of hot and cold water,
whose streams were copious, and naturally salubrious and pleas¬
ant in a wonderful degree. About the fountains, too, edifices
were constructed, and trees planted, adapted to these fontal
waters. Receptacles of water, likewise, were placed round the
fountains, some of which were exposed to the open air, but
others were covered, as containing hot baths for the winter
season. Of these receptacles, some were appropriated to the
royal family, and others, apart from these, to private individuals;
and again, some were set apart for women, and others for horses
and other animals of the yoke; a proper ornament at the same
time being distributed to each. They likewise brought defluent
streams to the grove of Neptune, together with all-various trees
of an admirable beauty and height, through the fecundity of
the soil: and thence they derived these streams to the exterior
circles, by conducting them through channels over the bridges.
But in each island of these exterior circles there were many
temples of many Gods, together with many gardens, and gym¬
nasia apart from each other, some for men, and others for
horses. But about the middle of the largest of the islands there
was a principal hippodrome, which was a stadium in breadth,
and the length of which extended round the whole circle,
for the purpose of exercising the horses. On all sides of the
hippodrome stood the dwellings of the officers of the guards.
But the defence of the place was committed to the more faith¬
ful soldiers, who dwelt in the smaller circle, and before the
acropolis; and the most faithful of all the soldiers were assigned
habitations within the acropolis, and round the royal abodes.
The docks, likewise, were full of three-banked galleys, and of

243

such apparatus as is adapted to vessels of this kind. And in this
manner the parts about the royal palaces were disposed. But
having passed beyond the external ports, which were three in
number, a circular wall presented itself to the view, beginning
from the sea, and every way distant from the greatest of the
circles and the port by an interval of fifty stadia. This wall
terminated in the mouth of the trench which was towards the
sea. The whole space, too, inclosed by the wall was crowded with
houses; and the bay and the greatest harbour were full of ships
and merchants that came from all parts. Hence, through the
great multitude that were here assembled, there was an all¬
various clamour and tumult both by day and night. And thus
we have nearly related the particulars respecting the city and
the ancient habitation, as they were then unfolded by the Egyp¬
tian priests. In the next place, we shall endeavour to relate what
was the nature, and what the arrangement, of the rest of the
region.

First, then, every place is said to have been very elevated and
abrupt which was situated near the sea; but all the land round
the city was a plain, which circularly invested the city, but was
itself circularly inclosed by mountains which extended as far as
to the sea. This plain too was smooth and equable; and its whole
length, from one side to the other, was three thousand stadia;
but, according to its middle from the sea upwards, it was two
thousand stadia. The whole island, likewise, was situated towards
the south, but from its extremities was exposed to the north. Its
mountains were then celebrated as surpassing all that exist at
present in multitude, magnitude, and beauty; and contained
many villages, whose inhabitants were wealthy. Here, too, there
were rivers, lakes, and meadows, which afforded sufficient nutri¬
ment for all tame and savage animals; together with woods,
various both in multitude and kind, and in abundance adequate
to the several purposes to which they are subservient. This plain,
therefore, both by nature and the labours of many kings in a
long period of time, was replete with fertility. Its figure, too,

244

was that of a square, for the most part straight and long; but on
account of the trench which was dug round it, it was deficient
in straightness. The depth, breadth, and length of this trench
are incredible, when compared with other labours accomplished
by the hands of men: but, at the same time, we must relate what
we have heard. Its depth was one acre; and its breadth every
where a stadium. And as it was dug round the whole plain, its
length was consequently ten thousand stadia *. This trench re¬
ceived the streams falling from the mountains, and which, circu¬
larly flowing round the plain towards the city, and being col¬
lected from different parts, at length poured themselves
from the trench into the sea. Ditches one hundred feet in
breadth, being cut in a right line from this part, were again sent
through the plain into the trench near the sea: but these were
separated from each other by an interval of one hundred stadia.
The inhabitants brought wood to the city from the mountains,
and other seasonable articles, in twofold vessels, through the
trenches; for the trenches intersected each other obliquely, and
towards the city. Every year, too, they twice collected the fruits
of the earth; in winter using the waters from Jupiter, and in
summer bringing the productions of the earth through the
streams deduced from the trenches. With respect to the multi¬
tude of men in the plain useful for the purposes of war, it was
ordered that a commander in chief should be taken out of each
allotment. But the magnitude of each allotted portion of land
was ten times ten stadia; and the number of all the allotments
was sixty thousand. There is said to have been an infinite
number of men from the mountains and the rest of the region;
and all of them were distributed according to places and villages
into these allotments, under their respective leaders. The com¬
mander in chief, therefore, of each division was ordered to bring
into the field of battle a sixth part of the war-chariots, the whole

iThat is, 1250 miles. This trench, however, was not a more surprising
effort of human industry than is the present wall of China.

245

amount of which was ten thousand, together with two horses
and two charioteers: and again, it was decreed that he should
bring two horses yoked by the side of each other, but without a
seat, together with a man who might descend armed with a small
shield, and who after the charioteer might govern the two horses:
likewise, that he should bring two heavy-armed soldiers, two
slingers, three light-armed soldiers, three hurlers of stones, and
three jaculators, together with four sailors, in order to fill up
the number of men sufficient for one thousand two hundred
ships. And in this manner were the warlike affairs of the royal
city disposed. But those of the other nine cities were disposed
in a different manner, which it would require a long time to
relate. The particulars respecting the governors were instituted
from the beginning as follows:—Each of the ten kings possessed
absolute authority both over the men and the greater part of
the laws in his own division, and in his own city, punishing and
putting to death whomsoever he pleased. But the government
and communion of these kings with each other were conformable
to the mandates given by Neptune; and this was likewise the case
with their laws. These mandates were delivered to them by their
ancestors inscribed on a pillar of orichalcum, which was erected
about the middle of the island, in the temple of Neptune. These
kings, therefore, assembled together every fifth, and alternately
every sixth year, for the purpose of distributing an equal part
both to the even and the odd; and, when assembled, they deliber¬
ated on the public affairs, inquired if any one had acted im¬
properly, and, if he had, called him to account for his conduct.
But when they were about to sit in judgment on any one, they
bound each other by the following compact. As, prior to this
judicial process, there were bulls in the temple of Neptune,
free from all restraint, they selected ten of these, and vowed to
the God, they would offer a sacrifice which should be acceptable
to him, viz. a victim taken without iron, and hunted with clubs
and snares. Hence, whatever bull was caught by them they led
to the pillar, and cut its throat on the summit of the column,

246

agreeably to the written mandates. But on the pillar, besides the
laws, there was an oath, supplicating mighty imprecations against
those that were disobedient. When, therefore, sacrificing accord¬
ing to their laws, they began to burn all the members of the bull,
they poured out of a full bowl a quantity of clotted blood for
each of them, and gave the rest to the fire; at the same time
lustrating the pillar. After this, drawing out of the bowl in
golden cups, and making a libation in the fire, they took an
oath that they would judge according to the laws inscribed on
the pillar, and would punish any one who prior to this should
be found guilty; and likewise that they would never willingly
transgress any one of the written mandates. They added, that
they would neither govern, nor be obedient to any one who
governed, contrary to the prescribed laws of their country.
When every one had thus supplicated both for himself and those
of his race, after he had drunk, and had dedicated the golden cup
to the temple of the God, he withdrew to the supper, and his
necessary concerns. But when it was dark, and the fire about the
sacrifice was abated, all of them, invested with a most beautiful
azure garment, and sitting on the ground near the burnt victims,
spent the whole night in extinguishing the fire of the sacrifice,
and in judging and being judged, if any person had accused some
one of them of having transgressed the laws.

When the judicial process was finished, and day appeared,
they wrote the decisions in a golden table, which together with
their garments they dedicated as monuments, in the temple of
the God. There were also many other laws respecting sacred
concerns, and such as were peculiar to the several kings; but the
greatest were the following:—That they should never wage war
against each other, and that all of them should give assistance if
any person in some one of their cities should endeavour to ex¬
tirpate the royal race. And as they consulted in common respect¬
ing war and other actions, in the same manner as their ancestors,
they assigned the empire to the Atlantic family. But they did
not permit the king to put to death any of his kindred, unless it

247

seemed fit to more than five out of the ten kings. Such then being
the power, and of such magnitude, at that time, in those places,
Divinity transferred it from thence to these parts, as it is re¬
ported, on the following occasion. For many generations, the
Atlantics, as long as the nature of the God was sufficient for them,
were obedient to the laws, and benignantly affected toward a
divine nature, to which they were allied. For they possessed
true, and in every respect magnificent conceptions; and em¬
ployed mildness in conjunction with prudence, both in those
casual circumstances which are always taking place, and towards
each other. Hence, despising every thing except virtue, they con¬
sidered the concerns of the present life as trifling, and therefore
easily endured them; and were of opinion that abundance of
riches and other possessions was nothing more than a burthen.
Nor were they intoxicated by luxury, nor did they fall into error,
in consequence of being blinded by incontinence; but, being
sober and vigilant, they acutely perceived that all these things
were increased through common friendship, in conjunction with
virtue; but that, by eagerly pursuing and honouring them, these
external goods themselves were corrupted, and, together with
them, virtue and common friendship were destroyed. From rea¬
soning of this kind, and from the continuance of a divine nature,
all the particulars which we have previously discussed, were in¬
creased among them. But when that portion of divinity, or
divine destiny, which they enjoyed, vanished from among them,
in consequence of being frequently mingled with much of a
mortal nature, and human manners prevailed,—then, being no
longer able to bear the events of the present life, they acted in
a disgraceful manner. Hence, to those who were capable of
seeing, they appeared to be base characters, men who separated
things most beautiful from such as are most honourable: but by
those who were unable to perceive the true life, which conducts
to felicity, they were considered as then in the highest degree
worthy and blessed, in consequence of being filled with an un¬
just desire of possessing, and transcending in power. But Jupiter,

248

the God of Gods, who governs by law, and who is able to per¬
ceive every thing of this kind, when he saw that an equitable
race was in a miserable condition, and was desirous of punishing
them, in order that by acquiring temperance they might possess
more elegant manners, excited all the Gods to assemble in their
most honourable habitation, whence, being seated as in the
middle of the universe, he beholds all such things as participate
of generation: and having assembled the Gods, he thus addressed
them: ##****#**##***#**###*###

THE END OF THE CRITIAS, OR ATLANTICUS

Theology library

CLAREMONT, CALIF.

249

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Full text of "The Timaeus, and the Critias : or, Atlanticus."

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